Erasing Time's Tracks
by Hahukum Konn
Summary: Draco Malfoy has run out of options, and he's run out of time. The only way out is to go back to the beginning. Eventual HPDM slash. Canon compliant for all seven books but will be AU as of the time travel. Pretravel is just after HBP
1. No More Options

**Erasing Time****'****s Tracks**  
Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

A blond-haired wizard staggered outside of the large Muggle mansion and made his unsteady way towards the silent graveyard that was near the dilapidated house that sat on the hill. Had Harry Potter or Albus Dumbledore seen the house, they would have realised it was the Riddle Mansion.

They would also have identified that wizard as Draco Malfoy. Unfortunately, Dumbledore was no longer among the living, and Harry Potter was still reeling from the aftermath of the previous night's events.

As Draco Malfoy unsteadily walked, he recalled what had led up to his current situation. He and Snape had recently arrived to report on the success (or failure, depending on how one saw it) of Dumbledore's death; the Dark Lord had been extremely displeased to learn that Draco had ended up needing the now-former Defence teacher to save his bacon, thus depriving Voldemort of his valuable spy within Hogwarts.

The punishment that followed afterwards had been quite intense but fully deserved; the blond coughed weakly and felt something rattle in his chest. He was in no doubt that he had, at the very least, some bruised ribs, and something bitter and metallic was in his mouth. He spat it out, and then realised a second later that it was his own blood. He wished that the bouts of the Cruciatus curse that he had received had been less severe than they were.

Groaning, he leaned against a cold and mossy gravestone and wheezed quietly to himself; he winced as the waves of pain spread throughout his chest. He realised that he could do no-one any good in his current state. He had few resources left to boot; the Malfoy fortune was being steadily stripped from Lucius and Narcissa, by means of the Dark Lord's incessant demands for money to finance his private army, or, if the war went against the Dark Lord, by a Ministry led by Potter or Granger, who would swoop down on the wealthy purebloods for old-fashioned revenge in the form of pauperisation.

In addition, he had clearly failed as a Death Eater. The Dark Lord had washed his hands of Draco Malfoy.

As for Dumbledore's Order, he doubted that Potter and his group would be very benevolently-minded towards him, given his complicity in Dumbledore's death.

He was screwed.

And he knew it.

Luckily he had never before had to use the emergency single-use Portkey his father had given him two years ago, which would draw him to just outside Malfoy Manor. Now seemed like a good time though.

_So tired,_ thought Draco. _If I tried to App—_

He never finished that thought because his Portkey activated; the village of Little Hangleton disappeared in a swirl of colour and a jerk behind his navel, disturbing his thoughts and forcing him to concentrate on not vomiting. The journey ended with him plopping from out of nowhere outside of the tall front gates of the Manor; they were crowned by spikes and a swirling M insignia, with weathered gilding. He collapsed as soon as he saw that he'd arrived safely.

Draco would have died that night had a house-elf not come out to investigate the unexpected visitor; it was horrified at the state of its young master (who had been moderately more benevolent to the house-elves than Lucius had been) and instantly transported him into the grand house. A tearful Narcissa Malfoy had come running out of the parlour to cast healing charms on her only child before she settled him in his comfortable bed.

When Draco woke up two days later, he marvelled that he was alive at all.

He wearily pushed himself up in bed, and idly ran his right hand along the silk bedspread as he looked at the Dark Mark on his left arm. He'd been so naïve that day, to think that his mother bringing him to the Dark Lord would redeem the Malfoy name, allowing Draco to stand by the Dark Lord's side the way his father had always bragged had happened during the first rise of Voldemort.

His first clue that the Dark Lord wasn't really all that he'd been built up to be was when Draco had gotten that mission to kill Dumbledore. During sixth year, he had realised he'd been set up to fail. He turned his head away from his offending arm, and got out of bed.

After carefully going through his morning ablutions, Draco went into the manor's large dining room, which had several windows letting in the sunny summer morning. His mother looked up from her breakfast plate, and rushed up, worriedly fussing over her son. He'd looked at himself in the mirror and had been shocked at how ragged his hair had looked and how weak and frail he appeared. What she couldn't see were the numerous ugly-looking bruises and red blotches on his skin from the stress his body had been under due to the Cruciatus curses. Still, his appearance, such as it was, was enough to shock anyone.

It seemed that his mother thought the same, too, because she had said, "Oh, Draco, you poor child! Thank Merlin you're awake; I was worried you wouldn't ever wake up again! Sit down, and get some food into yourself!"

Draco had been so happy to be away from the stress of school, the Dark Lord, his mission—all that rot, that he didn't even sardonically question why his mother was babbling like some _Weasley_.

She'd refused to leave the table until he'd cleared his plate of breakfast and swallowed a nutrient potion followed by a general healing and strengthening potion. His mother looked quite unwell. Her once-shiny blond hair was dull and dreary. He also could have sworn he saw flecks of grey in it, even though she was not yet forty and was, in wizarding years, nowhere near middle age.

His mother said, "Draco, I forbid you, I absolutely _forbid_ you to go back to the Dark Lord! He will force you into another mission designed to kill you, and it will! I will make your excuses to Severus. You have still not regained your strength and I will not have you leaving this manor at all!"

Wearily, Draco said, "Mother, you know it doesn't matter what you want. If the Dark Lord wants, he can level this manor to the ground and kill both of us. We probably have two weeks, if that, to come up with a way out."

Over his mother's protestations, Draco shouted, at some cost to his ribs, "Mother!"

Now that he had gotten her attention, he continued talking. "You know it's true. Professor Snape will have to eventually report in to the Dark Lord, and eventually nobody will believe I'm still on the mend from when I left Hogwarts."

Narcissa closed her eyes, her lips trembling as she bowed her head and acknowledged that they were playing a waiting game, trying to stave off the inevitable. She said, in a low voice, "Draco, all I can do for you then, my son, is help you rebuild your strength. I will order the house-elves to bring you refreshments and food. Severus foresaw the possibility that Lucius or you might need healing potions, and left plentiful stocks of them. The house-elves will bring you two nutrient potions a day, and one strengthening potion a day. Take them with your meals."

Draco, his own head bowed, mumbled, "Yes, mother."

He'd left the table that day, all hope lost.

That night, however, he proved the aphorism that desperate times tend to bring out the best and most innovative measures humans can come up with.

Draco had been sitting at his desk in his bedroom, a piece of parchment in front of him, while he stared at the wall, eyes unfocussed.

If he didn't have any options in the _present_, there was nothing stopping him from trying to seek options in the _past_.

And the past was certainly a much better cauldron to boil, as it were.

He had two weeks to come up with a plan.

* * *

Author Note:

So, a Draco-goes-back fic. I wanted to write a twist on the usual theme of Hermione-goes-back or Harry-goes-back.

I think I've got a handle on POV changes with some creative use of line dividers to separate changes of scene from changes of POV. Hopefully it'll be a bit less jarring than the name-above-a-section thing which just doesn't work right for me.


	2. Setting the Stage

**Erasing Time****'****s Tracks**  
Chapter 2

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

It had been quite fortunate that the owners of Malfoy Manor were very much into collecting all manner of items, including many an unusual book that would often have all sorts of Dark Arts spells in it. There were even ones that were designed to tamper with some things that decent people had decided were not to be tampered with. One could cast spells to force women to bear monsters for offspring, or use another spell which would liquefy the insides of a victim. Those were just a selection of a litany of unpleasant things one could find in those Dark Arts books.

However, Draco skimmed past all that, looking for any kind of temporal-transfer spell. Minutes turned into hours, which turned into a week. Draco had run into dead end after dead end, as none of the more obvious books revealed anything useful to him. Finally, in desperation, he began pulling books off the shelves whose covers had no words on them. Even there, he nearly ran out of luck, until late one evening, after yet another day of driving himself far too hard for his body to safely tolerate, a small red book whose inside frontispiece had an elegant drawing of a snake battling a phoenix, revealed pay dirt. The book had resisted several attempts to open it, almost convincing Draco that he should put it back on the shelf and look at another. Advanced Confundus charms on a book - Draco was impressed despite himself.

But, oddly, the book was _blank_ after the frontispiece. What in Merlin's name was going _on_? The only clue that the book might be valuable was that its age was clearly evident. If nothing else, it was a book written perhaps three hundred years ago and well-preserved since then.

Draco, frustrated, almost threw the book across the room when he realised it might not be a smart idea. He began casting every revealing spell he could think of, starting with "_Specialis Revelio_", and moving on to some fairly exotic, and partly Dark, revealing spells. After nearly half an hour, nothing had changed. The thrice-damned book _refused_ to show any printing on the pages!

Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how one looked at it, Draco made the mistake of crushing a quill violently in his hand as he impotently raged at whatever strong magic was in the book. The pointed end of the quill was driven into his palm, and, crying out in pain, Draco dropped the quill on the table. Before he could turn his palm right side up, a drop of blood fell on the blank page just after the frontispiece.

Draco had just enough time to think, _oh, shit_ before the book flared with a sudden violet light. He dived to the floor, hoping nothing would explode.

A minute later, nothing happened. The book wasn't giving off any light anymore, and Draco cautiously stood up and edged back over to the table. Shock went through him as he realised the blank page now had visible printing! He reached out, hesitantly flipped a page, and more printing was there. Eagerly, he sat down and began riffling through the book.

Soon enough, he found it. The words were old, and faded, but Draco was able to clearly make out and transcribe the spell, the title of which ran, "_A Spelle To Transferre The Minde Acrosse Time_". Unfortunately one needed magical strength on the scale of what Merlin or Dumbledore had (Draco might have despised the Headmaster of Hogwarts, but only an idiot would deny that the man had an enormous reserve of magical power and very good control over it), in order to safely use the spell. Additionally, the spell was designed so one had to have a good knowledge of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. If one simply cast the spell itself without the appropriate Arithmantic results expressed as runes, it would simply do nothing.

If Draco had tried to cast the spell in his weakened, slowly recovering condition, he would at best send his soul back a few minutes, and at worst he would die from the separation of the soul from the body, since the reintegration at "the other end" needed power behind it. He needed to go back about six _years_, and he needed to be at the peak of his magical strength to even have a chance of a successful go at it.

For now, Draco was not in immediate danger, as far as bodily integrity was concerned, now that he had found what he was looking for. His mother was relaxed just enough to cease fussing over him so much, now that her healing charms plus the potions had restored her son. Truth be told, he didn't mind all the fussing right at the moment; it was good to be away from the horrible stress and pressure brought on by the meetings with the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters.

His methodical mind set out what he needed:

He first needed magical strength booster - a potion or several potions would work for that, he decided.

Secondly, a clear and peaceful place to work out the exact temporal parameters of the spell. He had luckily had some Arithmancy education and so he could understand what to place in the equations to derive the exact structure of the spell, and there were ample Ancient Runes references in the Malfoy library.

Remembering his self-imposed deadline of two weeks from his arrival at Malfoy Manor, Draco began writing on parchment, eager to erase the mistakes of his past. He vaguely registered his mother's admonishments to stop working so hard in his underground potions lab, seated for hours on end at his lab bench.

- - -

Draco had decided to narrow down his arrival to approximately the day or the one previous to that, on which he had met Potter at the robe shop that Madam Malkin owned. He hadn't made a very good impression then and he had only reinforced it with his snotty attitude towards the Weasleys (but honestly, _how_ a wizard could live without the finer things in life, Draco couldn't fathom). So he had lost Potter as a friend, or at least a useful ally.

He sure as hell needed Potter to be at least civil with him as he intended to get into Ravenclaw on the second go-round. There was nothing like soaking up volumes and volumes of strange and esoteric stuff, even if he would get a reputation as being a stuffy arse. It hadn't hurt Granger that much to be known as a bossy know-it-all, particularly when one considered how many times she had helped bail the Boy Who Lived out of danger.

However, he would need to have multiple backup plans in the event that the changes he made caused untoward ripple effects. One distant possibility was that Potter would get sorted into a house other than Gryffindor; ideally, he, Potter, and Granger would all get sorted into Ravenclaw, but that required a lot of fancy fine-tuning Draco didn't think he could accomplish. Nonetheless, no Slytherin would be one without at least one Plan B in mind.

With this in mind, Draco continued his research.

The Arithmantic equations seemed to imply a fundamental problem with accuracy in time travel. Due to the extremely large (but not infinite) amounts of magical energy needed to perform the spell and drive one's soul backwards in time, there was an inherent limit to just how accurately you could set your arrival time. What the book seemed to imply that if one had an infinite amount of magical energy, one could pinpoint exactly the time one wished to arrive. So if he chose to pick July 1, 1991 as his arrival day, and then picked a specific time – say, eight in the morning – the uncertainty implied by the equations meant that if he had a lot of magical energy going in, he could arrive within two or three hours on either side of eight o'clock, but if he didn't have that much going in, he might well arrive anywhere from several days before to several days after.

This would not normally have been an issue, but Draco wanted to meet his younger self before going to Diagon Alley and bumping into Potter, and keep his head down and his ears open until then. Draco decided to simply assume he could arrive at exactly 6 AM on July 30, 1991 and let the Arithmantic equations set the spell. He would work on driving the uncertainty down to the minimum possible however he could.

So, as regarded the magical energy issue, Draco was not going to be concerned about laws or regulations regarding any performance-enhancing potions, and set out to brew as many strengthening potions he could get recipes for. His only concern was for possibly negative synergistic effects, where one potion might not only cancel another, but even harm him in the process.

_In any case_, thought Draco sardonically, _if I send my soul back, my body will be ruined beyond repair anyway. Mother can bury me in whatever fashion she deems appropriate and the Dark Lord can write off the Malfoys. And if I _don't_ successfully send my soul back, the potions will play such havoc with my magical core I'll probably die anyway._

He pulled the next book off the pile of Arithmancy texts he'd accumulated, and went back to his parchment.

He now had, he reckoned, five more days.

* * *

Author Note:

I'd appreciate feedback as to the realism of the work Draco is doing on his time-travel adventure, or on the fic generally. :)

Incidentally, the energy and time issue outlined above is what I term a magical version of the famous Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle. ;-)

_Addendum - Talriga made a good point in her review and so I have altered this chapter to make it a bit more of a lucky jackpot for Draco to find what he was looking for._


	3. Creating the Past That Never Was

**Erasing Time****'****s Tracks**  
Chapter 3

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

Four days later, a bitter and tired Draco Malfoy stood before six cauldrons that were innocently bubbling away; the aromas of various strengthening potions mixed to create an odour vaguely reminiscent of pine sap.

He had been furiously rushing to meet his deadline, and had managed everything with one day to spare, according to his reckoning. The runes were carved; the potions were ready. All he needed now was to put stasis charms on the cauldrons, and re-check his Arithmancy calculations. The runes needed to be placed very precisely in relation to one another, and a spell had to be cast each time he placed a rune. The process was designed to facilitate the magic of sending his soul back the desired number of years and months. Days was another issue, and depended on the amount of magical energy he would have after imbibing the potions.

Deciding another look wouldn't hurt, Draco mentally inventoried his potions.

The first was a standard Strengthening Potion taught in school. It would ensure that he would remain alert during the spell-casting.

The next was a potion which was borderline illegal as it increased one's metabolism whenever imbibed – very useful for those who couldn't be bothered to diet, but it wreaked havoc on one's biochemistry and prolonged use often led to heart failure by the time one reached their sixties; when a witch or wizard could live to a hundred and twenty or even older, it was a pretty risky adventure in order to just lose some extra pounds. But in his case, it wouldn't matter. He had been wolfing down food whenever his mother or a house-elf brought it, and at the rate he was going, Draco knew he would actually get fat that summer, assuming he wasn't time travelling. All the better to metabolise with so he could cast a spell Merlin would quail at.

The third potion – Draco blushed again at the thought of what his mother would say if she ever knew he had brewed it – was supposed to increase one's sexual stamina; he had tossed it into the list because it worked by boosting one's magical core somehow; how that exactly improved the ability one had in bed, Draco had yet to determine. He half-wished at that moment that Pansy was around so that he could give that potion a trial run. He snickered and moved on.

The fourth, fifth and sixth potions were all illegal for quite a few good reasons; they had a nasty habit of inducing premature aging, since they somehow allowed the human body to be a conduit for forms of magic normally associated with inanimate objects or the Earth itself, and the human body was just simply not designed for that.

It was truly a mark of how desperate Draco thought his situation to be that as he had feverishly worked on his Arithmancy, then his potions, and now contemplated the best order to take the potions, not once did he entertain the idea of trying to have another go at appeasing the Dark Lord or trying to meet the Order of the Phoenix.

He concluded that the potions would best be imbibed roughly from most benign to least. That meant the normal Strengthening Potion, then the sexual enhancement potion, then the second, fourth, fifth and sixth in that order.

The potions books he had gotten the recipes from did not appear to imply a terribly specific dose was needed; however, Draco knew from basic Potions that the more you drank, generally the effect was proportional, so for the sake of convenience Draco set out six ladles, one for each cauldron. He then cast the stasis charms, and went upstairs for dinner.

At the long polished oak table, Draco's mother was sitting pensively, waiting for her son. She looked up, and smiled wanly as Draco approached and sat near her. She said, "Draco, I have been worried about you since you came home. Rushing around with these private projects of yours—"

Attempting to be soothing, Draco interposed, saying, "Mother, don't worry. I'm just trying to come up with some special personal defences for myself. I think we should go into hiding, you know. But we'll go separately; I'll leave first and give you time to empty the vault and strip the Manor of possessions you can shrink into a trunk. We'll meet in France, and then maybe go to Italy, if Zabini's relatives will take us in."

Visibly relieved, Narcissa Malfoy grasped Draco's arm, saying, "Thank Merlin at least one of us is keeping up with things. I'm sorry, Draco. I just can't seem to concentrate properly; it's all I can do to be a mother to you, now that you need one."

Draco picked up his knife and fork and began attacking the well-cooked roast beef. He muttered, "We won't have much time. As soon as Severus or the Dark Lord realise we've taken off, they'll come after us. Severus was..."

_He had been furious. What Draco hadn't wanted to say was that as soon as Voldemort had received the news that Snape had had to step in and finish Draco's mission, he had said, "Severus, I believe now would be a good time to remind Mr Malfoy of the, shall we say, reward for failure."_

_Snape had hit him with the Cruciatus Curse, and then for good measure, had cast a Blood-Boiling Hex at him. The look of utter contempt on the man's face had stayed with Draco for some time after that._

Draco Malfoy most assuredly did not want his mother to know his former professor thought him to be lower than a flobberworm. She seemed to realise he didn't want to keep discussing past events, and silently attended to her own dinner.

- - -

The next day, without further ado, Draco stood in front of the cauldrons, and cancelled the stasis charms. He then began ladling up the potions, one by one, gulping them down. As he threw the last ladle back on the bench top in his underground lab at the Manor, he suddenly shuddered; his hands were racked by spasms and he realised that his body was reacting to the sudden and large increases in magical energy he was experiencing. He willed himself to remain steady as he leaned against one of the cool stone walls as he waited for his body to adjust.

After a few minutes of nerve-wracking shivering, teeth chattering and nausea, Draco found that the effects were lessening as his magic and body realigned. Draco counted his lucky stars that the cramping he'd felt in his arse hadn't led to an involuntary and messy problem, and closed his eyes as he felt the surge of power within him.

Almost automatically, his wand was out, and he opened his eyes as he pointed it at the ladle.

"_Leviosa."_

WHACK!

The ladle crashed against the ceiling before it fell back on the bench. Draco smirked and thought, _well, that settles it. The potions work! _

Suddenly, Draco realised he felt a strange tingling running all up and down his arms. A Muggle would have said he was feeling static electricity. It took him a few moments, but he gasped as he realised the implications – he was feeling the rest of the magic in his vicinity! The Malfoy Manor wards were one of the key components to that uneasy tingling on his skin. Only a truly powerful mage could sense magic to that degree.

And at that moment, he realised, to his horror, that his time had nearly run out. He could feel several magical signatures two floors above; his mother, he was sure, was one of them. Even as he processed this information, the signatures began to spread throughout the Manor. Draco pointed his wand at the door to his lab and said, "_Colloportu_s."

The sudden surge of magic on the door told the blond wizard that his locking spell had been quite powerful. He estimated he needed fifteen minutes. Grabbing the runes, he put them beside the pre-drawn diamond in a corner of his lab. With precise moves, he placed the first rune at the northern corner of the diamond, then cast the Temporal Alignment spell. The second rune went down at the southern point three minutes later, accompanied by a Temporal Shifting spell.

As Draco placed the third rune at the eastern point, he was momentarily distracted by a distant banging. Someone was yelling, "Open up, widdle Malfoy!"

_Shit._

Draco's heart beat faster as he began hearing distant blasts, as though someone were attempting Reductor curses at the door. The Spatial Transfer spell took a minute to cast.

Draco forced himself to concentrate as he placed the last rune at the western corner of the diamond, and began casting the Spatial Reckoning spell; this one required particular care, since it depended on the exact placement and construction of the previous three runes. Luckily, the magic he felt was reassuring, and did not warn him of any danger. He took this to mean he had cast the first stage of the Temporal Magic correctly.

Standing inside the diamond, feeling the incredible magical field he was in, and focussing on the Temporal Transfer spell, Draco began intoning the incantation. As the spell took shape and form, he could feel a tugging on his mind. It wasn't unpleasant but was certainly odd. He was determined though to see this through to the end; his voice steadied and then got louder and more strident as he ended in a near-shout—

And the door blasted in, as into the room entered a white-faced Severus Snape, dragging a handcuffed Narcissa Malfoy with him, accompanied by a grinning Bellatrix Lestrange. Snape bellowed, "Traitor! Come with me now to the Dark Lord."

At almost the same moment, the world exploded in a haze of sheer white in Draco's vision. The last he knew, his mind – or consciousness – was zooming through this…odd tunnel so swiftly he feared the results should he disastrously merge with his younger self.

Draco Malfoy's soul left his body, zooming backwards in time to his eleven-year-old self, while his tired seventeen-year-old body bore mute testimony to the desperate, risky act Draco had committed to try and mould a better future for himself. It collapsed, unseeing, unfeeling, on the floor.

The magical backwash from the sudden high-energy transfer was felt around Wiltshire for miles. In the wrecked potions lab, Severus, and Bellatrix coughed and threw pieces of wood and furniture off of themselves and Narcissa as they surveyed Draco's apparently elaborate suicide.

Harry Potter, in Surrey, would be startled awake by the sudden twinge in his skin, and wonder what kind of magical blast could cause it. But Harry wouldn't need to be worried about Dumbledore, or Horcruxes, or anything like that, as Draco Malfoy was about to change the equation.

He had sent himself back to July, 1991.

- - -

_Whump!_

Draco staggered in the luxurious bathroom in Malfoy Manor as he struggled to get his bearings. The meeting of his older self and younger self had been… bruising.

One moment, Draco's vapid eleven-year-old self had been busily unwrapping his robe to jump into the bathtub, which that house-elf – Globby? Blobby? – had been drawing for him. In the next, he had staggered as a sudden weight seemed to drive itself into his head. Blinking, disoriented, he stood, wondering why there suddenly seemed to be two of himself in his mind. An older – version? – of himself was rapidly displaying memories and feelings to him, and he had to lean against the bathtub to try and assimilate this strange turn of events.

Somehow, he had impossibly become implacable enemies with Harry Potter, the semi-mythical Boy Who Lived. He had carried on the antagonism of the Weasleys and Malfoys, and a bushy-haired Mudblood of no account had somehow bulked large in his resentment and anger.

His father had sat him down after fourth year and carefully explained that things were different; the Dark Lord had indeed returned, and Draco was to spy for him.

And then sixth year—

Horror dawned on the younger Malfoy as he tried to process the impossible – that he had been ordered to kill Albus Dumbledore, the living legend of a Headmaster who, if you didn't like, you had to respect. No wonder his older self had given up so completely!

As Draco got his bearings, and carefully sat down in the very large bathtub, he closed his eyes and let his older self do his thing; it seemed what he wanted to do was kick his younger self, metaphorically, into a corner of his mind and, as the Muggles said, 'show off the road.'

But his younger self seemed to be having none of that, and finally, the merger was slightly more equal than his older self preferred. In the end, he had all the memories his older self needed, plus all the skills, while his mannerisms would be a cross between the two of them.

A world-weary Draco Malfoy marvelled that he would get to feel the innocence of going to Diagon Alley and Hogwarts for his first year, while at the same time keeping track of everything that was going on. He opened his eyes, focussing on the walls of marble and the tub of inlaid ivory, and breathed deeply. He looked at his hands, which seemed so small, and snickered at the thought of him wheezing and puffing, running about Hogwarts as though he were some Muggleborn student who had never heard of magical workout charms, such as the kind that made one's legs feel as though they had lead blocks attached.

…Which brought him up short; he couldn't afford to let his father know he really didn't care about his stupid ideas regarding Mudbloods and half-bloods. All that had been burned out of Draco Malfoy when he had measured himself at the Astronomy Tower and found himself wanting. It had taken a half-blood, his mentor and professor, Severus Snape, to bail him out, and another half-blood, Harry Potter, had bested him at Quidditch several times. Even the Mudblood Granger had proven that ancestry was no bar to whipping his arse at grades.

But he had to keep up pretences; how to stay on the right side of the Golden Trio while making them realise he needed a cover? He knew from past – future? – experience that Ron Weasley was as subtle as a hippogriff and was prone to shooting his mouth off. But Potter – that boy had shown an interesting tendency to be a bit Slytherin in his ability to shrug something off when he had to, and _he_ had certainly had to have his fair share of secrets he needed to keep. And Granger – the most level-headed of the three – her mind was like a steel trap.

That settled it, then. He needed to get hold of Granger and Potter, _before _they got hold of the Weasel, and explain to them just one or two things. If they realised that a lot of what he was doing was maintaining a cover, they could go along, even if they didn't have to like some of the things he'd have to say. It wasn't like the beaver-toothed Granger would be helpless, anyway. She had proven her reflexes were plenty good enough when she had cracked him a good one across the face in third year.

Draco's thinking and pondering for so long meant the water had gone a bit chilly, and he called for the house-elf, which his combined selves now realised was Dobby, to warm the tub again. It gave him some ideas, as he remembered the way his father had been in an absolutely abominable mood in the first few days of summer hols after second year, entirely traceable to the loss of a house-elf to Harry Potter's machinations.

"Dobby!"

The obsequious elf appeared next to the bathtub, and his ears drooped as he said, "Dobby is being nice, young master sir! Dobby is not being a bad elf!"

Draco didn't respond for a moment, startled at how different his voice sounded. He'd forgotten how annoyingly girlish his voice sounded when he was a kid. In some irritation, he tried to lower the pitch of his voice, though not really successfully.

He finally spoke to the house-elf, saying, "I didn't say that, Dobby. Listen – do you know who Harry Potter is?"

The elf looked around, and at that moment, Draco thought, _Shit! The paintings! Is there one in here? I _hope_ not!_

Draco could have kicked himself. He'd gotten complacent after the absence of his father for a year; luckily he and the elf seemed to have come to the same conclusion, that Lucius Malfoy's spy network didn't extend into Draco's bathroom.

With some hope in his voice, Dobby said, "Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived, young master. He is the hope to all elf-kind that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is surely dead!"

"Unfortunately, Dobby, it's not that simple. Listen, I promise to treat you better if you tell me if my father does anything really… unusual. Like takes Dark Arts artefacts away from this house, or meets anyone who used to be a Death Eater. Can you do that without being forced to tell him?"

"Young master is being far too nice to a humble elf like Dobby!" The house-elf promptly began hitting himself on the head with a soap bar, forcing Draco to hiss "Stop!" at him.

A bit dazed, Dobby continued. "Young master will be sure that Dobby is telling him when Master is doing anything strange, and Dobby is not telling Master what Dobby is doing!"

"Good. Warm up my bathtub, and then get back to work, Dobby."

The house-elf did as told, then popped away, and Draco knew that sooner or later, that rather barmy elf would be annoying Potter again. He snickered at the thought, and sardonically wished Granger well, once again, with her ridiculous SPEW thing.

- - -

It occurred to Draco after his wonderfully sybaritic bath (nothing quite makes a bath so enjoyable as having been in a potions lab for days on end, feverishly working, barely having time to properly clean oneself in the process), that he needed to check the date. Since he wasn't sure if he had his wand yet, he checked around his bedroom. Unfortunately, no wand. He went back to the bathroom, and called for Dobby again.

"Yes, young master?"

"Dobby, what day is it today and how old am I?"

"Young sir, it is being July thirtieth, and you is eleven years old."

"Good. Go back to work now."

So it was July 30, 1991, and he'd gotten there at about eight or nine in the morning. Not bad for someone whose magical power hadn't been all that stellar to begin with.

In the previous timeline, Draco had never bothered to wonder where the Malfoy fortune had come from. He guessed – correctly – that a good chunk of it came from disreputable means, such as stolen Ministry funds. The rest of it, he didn't have a clue. But he knew that if he was to restore the name of Malfoy after the war, he needed to know what generated the fortune instead of sitting on his lily-white spoiled arse, assuming the money came out of thin air.

In years to come that decision would stand him in good stead, as his father would treat him more like an equal. He would see that his son was less of an entitled, whiny brat than he had been, and more willing to take on the duties of a Malfoy heir. It would also assist Draco in gaining his father's confidence that he would be loyal when the time came, although Draco had no intention of becoming a Death Eater.

But that day, Draco wanted to be a kid again, and he rushed out to the sprawling lawns and gardens of the manor, and found his broom, a Comet 260 – until recently, a very top-quality broom that he'd been delighted to receive as a present. Remembering with some embarrassment that Madam Hooch had told him he'd been gripping his broom wrong until he got to Hogwarts, he struggled to pull up memories that were six years distant, and remembered what the orthodox grip should be. It _did_ feel a bit more natural and imparted less of a strain on his elbows as he took off, and felt the rush of the air against his face.

_It's good to be back_, thought Draco. His thin, pointy face broke into a rare unforced grin as he soared high into the air, with not a cloud in sight, without a war hanging over his head.

* * *

Author Note:

Next up, Diagon Alley and the first of fate's focal points. I've changed the name of this chapter from "Erase and Rerecord" to "Creating the Past That Never Was" as a homage to one of the best HP-time travel fics I've ever read, called "Harry Potter and the Past That Never Was", by RobertStorm on Schnoogle. Unfortunately it hasn't been updated in a while. :(

A note - since pure-bloods seem to have a habit of mangling Muggle turns of phrase, I've changed what Draco thinks the right expression is for "getting the show on the road". :)


	4. Diagon Alley Redux

**Erasing Time's Tracks**  
Chapter 4

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

Draco woke up early the next morning, feeling somewhat anxious. He bounded out of bed and tripped as he remembered to readjust for a smaller body; when he lifted his left sleeve he grinned on seeing a distinct lack of a Dark Mark. He had never really realised until some months after he had begun his sixth year exactly how much of a badge of slavery it really was. One did not gain any power or glory; all you got was a chance to maybe avoid a Cruciatus or three at the hands of a capricious self-styled Dark Lord who lived to appease his sadistic impulses.

He looked at the bottle of Sulla's Wizard Hair Gel and scrunched his nose at the thought that he'd once slathered it all over his hair to attempt to reproduce the swept-back look his father had, since his hair wasn't long enough to tie back. He had abandoned that gel after second year, and wished he could quit using it now. Unfortunately, he realised if he did so it might raise questions from his parents, so he gave in and slicked his hair back.

He initially found breakfast to be jarring. He had walked into the same room as he had done before his trip back and the only noticeable difference was the oak table; it looked a bit shinier, and maybe, after a second glance, one of the paintings was different, but other than that, things had changed little.

The truly bizarre part was seeing his parents, together, looking so calm and regal. The innocent past, being presented before him anew, threatened to incapacitate Draco in sudden sadness, but he pushed the emotion away, reminding himself that he could indulge that later. His parents must not suspect anything different about their son.

For the first time in far too long, Draco Malfoy enjoyed what was, by Malfoy standards, a relaxed morning. He remembered to sit properly and avoid staring at his parents who were looking so much younger. The stress of being a Death Eater once again had aged Lucius Malfoy more than Draco had realised at the time, whilst his mother looked impossibly healthy and carefree, as she had no need to worry about life-or-death situations involving her son.

His father broke the comfortable silence by saying, "Draco, is there anything in particular you want to do in Diagon Alley today? Your mother and I will be glad to take you – provided you behave like a _gentleman_."

The last word had been delivered particularly sternly, but Draco could tell it had been meant – in awe, he realised it was the closest his father would ever get to expressing the love he had for his son. It broke his heart in two to realise that there would only be three more years of this. If he had any chance at all, he would have given Potter all the tools in the world he needed, all the money – everything – if it meant the Chosen One could get rid of Voldemort right that moment and let Draco keep his family.

In that instant, he felt truly ashamed for all the times that he had thoughtlessly needled Potter over his lack of parents. He had never realised how painful it could be for a child who lacked a proper family to be taunted about it by a boy who had one. It also struck him as being supremely bizarre that Potter might actually have preferred being adopted by the Malfoys to being an unwanted urchin at some Muggle house; Draco didn't know all the details, but from what he had pieced together over the years, the Boy Who Lived spent his summers and childhood with relatives called the Dursleys, who apparently had no love lost for their orphaned relative.

It was then that Draco realised that he had been rude; he had not answered his father right away.

"I'm sorry, father. I was thinking for a moment. Could we look at the brooms? I've heard there's that Nimbus Two Thousand!"

His mother smiled warmly and leaned forwards.

"Of course, my dragon, _and_ we will get you some new school robes, won't we, Lucius?"

"Indeed, Narcissa. Thank you for reminding me; I have Draco's Hogwarts letter here, and we shall pick up his supplies before I meet with Minister Fudge later today. However, are you sure you would rather Draco did not go to Durmstrang?"

_Shit, no! Not Durmstrang!_

Draco panicked as he realised all his plans could be shot to hell if anything changed and made his mother more inclined to send him away. Pleadingly, he looked at her with wide eyes.

His mother saved the day once again.

"No, Lucius. We have discussed this before; I want to keep Draco as close to me as I can. I would not feel right knowing my son was so far away. Am I not right, Draco?"

Draco beamed and said, "Yes, mother." He then looked at his other parent and added, "I'm sorry, father. I realise this must make you upset."

Lucius _had _looked rather miffed when his wife had put her foot down, but he had seemed more mollified at Draco's proper behaviour.

"It is fine, Draco," he said, "As long as you remember that you are a Slytherin. I will be very displeased indeed if you end up in Hufflepuff or in Gryffindor. Ravenclaw might be acceptable, I suppose, but Slytherin is where the Blacks and Malfoys have been for generations; I want you to uphold that tradition, Draco."

"Of course, father."

And so the Malfoys made their way to Diagon Alley, and Draco nervously awaited his appointment with fate.

- - -

Draco recalled that his father had long decided that robe shopping was not for him; therefore he was not at all surprised when the older wizard had said, wearing his usual "I am going to spend tons of money" expression, "I shall be back after I pick up your textbooks, Draco."

His mother had taken him to Madam Malkin's and, after some chatter with Madam Malkin, who was clad in mauve, she had said, "Draco, I am going to go to Ollivander's to ask about your wand. Will you be all right by yourself for a little while?"

He willed himself to look as adult and mature as possible as he replied, "Of course, mother. I'll meet you there after I get my robes done."

She smiled warmly and briefly squeezed his shoulder before she regally swept out of the shop. It was a short while later that Draco was perched on the platform as he remembered from before. Just as a witch began measuring his sleeves, he heard the door open again, and Madam Malkin called out, "Hogwarts, dear?"

He heard no answer but the witch had quickly continued, saying, "Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

Draco remembered hearing the exact same words the last time, and his heart raced as his palms got sweaty.

_This is it, Malfoy. You've got half of one chance here, and the other half on the Hogwarts Express. Blow both, and you're sunk!_

He turned to his right and saw a short boy with messy black hair and green eyes. He was wearing glasses that had been taped in the middle, but even so, at that young an age, Harry Potter radiated a kind of inner strength which Draco knew, in that instant, truly marked the other as "The Chosen One."

Draco marvelled, with the knowledge he'd accumulated, at how he'd been so quick, in the previous timeline, to dismiss the other boy and talk down to him because he'd been dressed in intolerably ill-fitting clothes. Additionally, Potter's presence was not diminished an iota by the fact that he stood there in hand-me-down rags.

Draco could not understand why, even with the knowledge of his combined seventeen/eleven-year-old self, he had suddenly had the thought, _I promise I will stay by your side through this turbulent life, Harry James Potter._

He spoke up a bit loudly. "Hullo. Hogwarts too?"

Potter replied softly, "Yes."

The blond wondered why he had never noticed how shy Potter was. Had he been even a bit more sensitive to other people in the previous timeline he could have made a lot more friends and a lot less enemies. Merlin, he'd been such a self-absorbed, _petty_ little snot; that would change though, and he started by saying, "Oh, good. My father's just next door getting my textbooks and my mother has gone to go look at wands. I want to go look at brooms later. And – oh, I'm being a bit rude, aren't I? I should have asked your name."

Potter smiled slightly and said, "Harry Potter."

"I'm Draco Malfoy."

It was with some trepidation that he unobtrusively wiped his hand on his robe and extended it as he said, "Pleased to meet you, Harry."

Neither of the boys had bothered to notice that the witches measuring them had gotten a bit nervous at hearing those two names in juxtaposition.

The bespectacled boy extended his own hand, and shook the one the blond was offering, a bit awkwardly with all the extra fabric and such. The slight tingling Draco felt along his arm could have been Potter's strong magic; he tried to hide his startled reaction.

He said, after Harry said nothing for a few seconds, "I don't suppose you've heard of Quidditch? It's a game wizards and witches play quite often here in Britain."

Something seemed to sparkle in those intense green eyes, as the boy said, "No, I'm afraid not. How do you play it?"

"Easily. It's a wonderful game. I've been at the World Cup a few years ago – players on brooms rushing around tossing the Quaffle back and forth – that's the ball you need to toss through goal hoops to score ten points each time – and dodging Bludgers – those things are nasty, made of iron; you hit them towards opposing players to try and disable them."

At the latter's startled look Draco added, "Mind you, Harry, we can heal injuries really quickly with potions and spells, so nobody is hurt for long. The seekers, meanwhile – they try to catch the snitch, which is this little golden ball with wings; it's charmed to fly around and it's very hard to see, so when the seeker catches it, that's a hundred and fifty points and the seeker's team wins the game."

Harry was clearly entranced. "Can I play it at Hogwarts?"

"You can, but unfortunately first-years aren't allowed on the house teams, so we'll have to wait 'til second year to have a go at tryouts. My father says that I fly pretty well on a broom, but my feeling is you could be a natural."

Potter was immediately wary. He said, "What makes you think that? I've never _been_ on a broom before!"

_Oh… right. Potter hasn't yet figured out those Seeker reflexes. And to think I was the one that ended up accidentally getting him on the Gryffindor team because I was such a bloody prat!_

The blond answered airily, "You've just got the right build is all, and don't worry about having never flown before; we have flying classes and all that at Hogwarts. My father went, so I heard all about how they do things at that school. I'd be glad to write back and forth to you if you want to know more about how things work there."

He noticed that his fellow was suddenly somewhat saddened. "I wish I could," he said, "but I don't think I'll have any way of communicating with you."

In realisation that Potter hadn't gotten his owl yet, Draco replied, "Oh. Well, don't worry about that. We'll probably meet up on the Hogwarts Express – that's the train that takes you to Hogwarts. It's a tradition we have. But if you do get an owl, you can use him or her to send me things. Just make sure you clearly mark that it's for me if you send something."

He smiled at Harry, then looked up to see the huge bulk that was Hagrid in the window; the large half-giant seemed to be eating a large ice cream.

"I say, is that—"

The thin face next to him broke into a genuine grin as the owner saw who was outside. Harry turned back to Draco and said, "Yes, he brought me here! That's Hagrid; he works at Hogwarts as the gamekeeper."

The blond knew his reply was rather lame.

"Er, he's… well, _tall_." He really didn't want to insult Hagrid in front of Harry, but _honestly_, what idiot would make that half-giant a _professor_? His idea of cute animals defied comprehension!

Harry chuckled, saying, "Yeah, he is."

It was at that point that Madam Malkin told Harry she was done with him; she then turned to Draco and said, "I've got one more set of dress robes for you, dear. Your mother wanted you to have a set for her Yule party."

Draco rolled his eyes at the mention of another commonplace and vapid social-club encounter. His mother had loved to have them before the second war broke out.

"All right, but could you hurry, please? I want to get my wand."

Madam Malkin laughed a bit, saying, "You young men! Always wanting to rush about! Honestly – oh, I think your friend is saying good-bye to you, by the way."

His head whipped towards the front door and he lifted his hand to wave to Harry, who was looking back at him, also waving as he left the shop. Draco hoped that he had made a good impression on Harry Potter; it transpired later on that he had successfully done so. He had also managed to avoid painting Slytherins as arrogant snots.

He breathed a sigh of relief both from the fact that he was finished being measured and prodded and poked for his robes, and that his encounter with Potter had gone better than in the first timeline, Draco took his robes, which had been shrunk for him by Madam Malkin, and went to go visit his mother at Ollivander's.

- - -

Finding his wand had been quite the adventure.

It became rapidly apparent to Draco that he had not accounted the possibility that some of his magical core would transfer across with the essence of his seventeen-year-old self. He went into the wand shop and had gone through the usual charmed-measuring-tape exercise before he began trying out wands, the first of which had blasted scorching fireworks all over the ceiling. He was absurdly grateful that his father was absent; he would have hated to have had his father see him cringing after _that_ display!

Draco then gingerly accepted a "holly wand, eight inches, unicorn hair" and gave it a swish.

It promptly blasted a chair in the corner into pieces.

Worried, Draco then tried out a "mahogany wand, a bit stiff, nine inches with dragon heartstring." He nearly had heart failure when the sudden outburst of magic had blasted an entire shelf (luckily empty of wands) into smithereens.

He whirled toward Ollivander; he was alarmed at the way his magic was behaving this time around, and blurted, "Hawthorn, unicorn hair!"

Ollivander abruptly turned and fixed Draco with a hard stare.

"And what," he asked, "young man, do you think you're doing telling me my job?"

Draco resisted the impulse to flay the man alive with his usual repertoire of stinging, sneering wit; instead he said, "It's just… it sort of came to me, that might be my wand. And… I'd really rather not destroy your shop if that _is_ my wand, since it would save us all a lot of time."

Ollivander seemed to withdraw back into himself, and muttered as he searched the shelves. Soon, he extracted a particular wand, saying, "Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches."

Draco picked it up, and smiled as he felt the familiar surge of magic as the wand recognised its owner. He swished the wand and it gave off bright sparkles. Ollivander only spoke once more before dismissing Draco and his mother from the shop. He said, "Your wand will be rather unusual. It is very temperamental and very sensitive."

Draco lifted his eyebrow as he pondered his wand-shopping experience on the way back to Flourish and Blotts.

- - -

Lucius deposited a pile of shrunken books into the charmed Ever-Light satchel that his son had, and then he gave Narcissa some Galleons as he said, "I must be off to speak with the Minister. I shall see you and Draco at home. He needs to get his Potions ingredients, a cauldron and an owl. It should, if at all possible, be an eagle owl."

Draco tried to restrain the impulse to roll his eyes at the mention of Fudge. If it was one thing he and Potter had in common, it was the opinion that Minister Fudge was an idiot. The man was far too easily manipulated; all one really had to do was reassure him that he could keep his head stuck up his arse and not pay attention to any dangers that might actually threaten the wizarding world.

That – and wave lots of Galleons at him. The blond wondered if that Finch-Fletchley bloke he would meet at school could have bribed Fudge, for his parents had apparently a lot of Muggle money, points or whatever they called it. All the same, none of his thoughts showed on his face as he bid his father goodbye with the simple assurance, "I shall try to be quick with the rest of my Hogwarts material."

His mother briefly kissed her husband goodbye before the two left for the Apothecary, and got the ingredients plus a standard pewter cauldron. Draco gave into his eleven-year-old impulse and whined, "But why can't I get a _gold_ cauldron?"

He found himself rebuked as his mother sharply said, "Now, Draco, you have been well-behaved up until now. You know from your private Potions tutoring sessions with Severus that a gold cauldron is too expensive to risk ruining by a first-year student at Hogwarts. I will _not_ reason with you like this if you keep whining."

Crestfallen, Draco mumbled, "I apologise, mother."

The next to last stop was Eeylops Emporium where Draco waded through the racket of hooting and screeching owls, to find his young eagle owl, which he wanted to name Zeus as in the previous timeline. As soon as he saw the tawny eagle owl, he locked eyes with it and said, "Hello, there. Want to come with me? I like eagle owls, you know."

The owl hooted, and fluttered its wings. Draco went to get the store owner, who got down the cage for him (_damn my new height, _thought Draco) and let him carry it to the front table where his mother paid for Zeus.

Once outside the shop, Draco excitedly said, "Mother, can I please look at the brooms?"

Dotingly, his mother smiled and said, "Very well, Draco. But remember that your father will ultimately decide if you are allowed to have one at school."

Draco remembered how, the first time around, he'd pleaded and whined to his father that night about bending the Hogwarts rules regarding first-years bringing their own brooms, and was met with his father's stern admonishment to uphold Malfoy standards of conduct and _prove_ he was worthy _first_, before having a brand-new racing broom at school. Only after he'd practically thrown a troll-sized fit over the way Potter managed to get on the Gryffindor Quidditch team in his first year did his father relent and, as a token of esteem, give the entire Slytherin team those Numbus 2001 brooms for second year.

Even knowing that two new brooms, the Nimbus 2001 and then the Firebolt, would be out quite soon, it was still a marvel to press his nose against the glass front of Quality Quidditch Supplies and eye up the Nimbus, while excitedly reciting its speed, acceleration, and braking to the equally excited children around him. With an eye to the future, he couldn't _wait_ to try a Nimbus 2001 with six years of extra experience on a broom!

Narcissa's coaxing finally drew Draco away from the broom, and they returned to Wiltshire.

* * *

Author Note:

And there we go. Draco has managed to hopefully get Harry on his good side. :)

Although Deathly Hallows canon has changed the nature of Draco's wand, I would still like to rec marysia's fic "The World According to Draco Malfoy", which is a Draco-centric fic that tells the stories of Philosopher's Stone and so on from Draco's POV. :) The original incarnation of this chapter used the wand from her fic.

And once again, thanks to **Maddevillechilde** for the beta work.


	5. Correspondence

**Erasing Time's Tracks**  
Chapter 5

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

_Harry Potter,_

Draco stopped writing and pondered what to write, to emphasise and what to leave out? He wasn't above manipulation, that was sure, but at the same time he felt an odd compulsion to be as truthful as he could to the Boy Who Lived.

_By now you have probably gotten back home and you are sorting through all of the material you got at Diagon Alley. I hope you do not mind that I have taken the liberty of writing first, but I wanted to tip you off about a few things. Firstly, before I begin, my owl is called Zeus. If you have a long letter to write, just send him off and tell him to come back later, if you have no owl of your own. If you do not plan on replying right away then just tell him you have no letter for me. Keep him around only if you have a short reply._

_So, on to class work; my father, as I said, went to Hogwarts and has told me all about it, and furthermore – this is fairly common among the old wizarding families – I have had private tutoring on various subjects that Hogwarts teaches. Please do not be upset or offended if I tell you that there is quite a lot of literature about you and more than a few rumours about you that have swept the magical world over the last decade as well. From that, and what you have told me, I suspect you have not got a very good advantage coming into Hogwarts. I want to remedy that for you._

_The most important thing you can do is to read your Potions texts. Then read them again. My tutor for Potions was the Hogwarts Potions professor himself; Severus Snape. He knows my father as they were in Hogwarts together for a year or so, and that is a story in itself. Anyway, he has a deserved reputation for being quite exacting and tenacious. He also does _not_ tolerate apparent stupidity; it would be wise of you to be quite knowledgeable about Potions. I would send you some of my supplemental texts but I am pretty sure that you will not have the time to read them all. If you think you have the time though, let me know by return owl; at the very least I will try to cover some of the more important extra material on the Hogwarts Express – speaking of which, would you like to meet on the train? If you do, just let me know and I shall make a note_ _to look for you when I get on._

_Finally, a word about my parents – please be careful about sending me owls. Once a week or so is fine, but my parents may become overly inquisitive if they see owls coming for me every day. Again, please do not be offended when I write that my parents are, shall we say, very status-conscious?_

_What that means is that they insist I associate with the "right sort", and so on. That usually means boring encounters with people I would rather not meet with, but have to in order to further my social connections, and by extension, those my father already has; but make no mistake about it, Harry… may I call you Harry? I want to be your friend and I really do not care what my father thinks._

_Write back soon, please._

_Draco Malfoy._

Draco nervously licked his lips as he re-read the parchment and then sealed it in an envelope, which he charmed in a way that made it readable to Potter only. When he went to Zeus, he whispered, "Get that to Harry Potter, all right? And try to be discreet about it. He lives in a Muggle house somewhere."

He had never been so anxious about a return owl as he had regarding this one. It was an unnervingly new feeling.

- - -

_Dear Draco,_

The blond's face broke into a smile at the greeting; he hadn't even realised until he had smiled that he had wanted Potter's approval that badly. To think they'd fought for six years because of Draco's monumental bad judgement and subsequent House rivalries! The two of them had always seemed to insist on striking sparks off each other.

_Thank you for your letter, and yes, you can call me Harry. I hope you don't mind that I've called you Draco._

_I had started in on my books already, but I will be doubly sure to cover my Potions books in detail now that you've explained about who is teaching it. That Snape sounds rather scary!_

_As for the train, I'd like that. I really don't know anyone except Hagrid and I doubt he'd be riding on the train. Speaking of which, I got a ticket for Platform nine and three-quarters at King__'s__ Cross, but muggle train stations don't have fractional platforms. I haven't the faintest idea of where it could be in that case. Can you help me with that?_

_If your owl can carry the load (how much weight can owls handle, anyway?) I would appreciate a supplemental text or two if it isn't too much trouble. I really want to be prepared for a magical school!_

_I'm not sure what to think about your parents. My relatives sound a bit like that. They're constantly insisting that my cousin Dudley only associate with "good people", and they're also status-conscious. I think my uncle likes his new car almost more than he likes my aunt, which is a rather scary concept in and of itself._

Draco snickered at that last, although he wasn't quite sure what a car was. He expected it was one of those vee-hick-eels things his father sometimes had the Ministry send for him. He really didn't know why, but he guessed his father just liked abusing the privilege of Ministry Auror escorts for his own benefit, thanks to that idiot Fudge currying favour with the Malfoys and other wealthy pureblood families.

_My uncle's new car is apparently very important to him because it reflects the fact that he can afford to spend all that money. His old car was just fine – not that I got to ride in it much._

_Anyway, I'm sure you don't want to hear about my boring life so I'll close here. Oh – my owl's name is Hedwig. She's beautiful, isn't she? (I think she's also quite intelligent; she seemed to know that I was about to finish this letter and hopped down on my leg to get ready to take it to you)_

_Harry Potter_

The beautiful snowy white owl had hooted softly at Draco just as he was preparing to go to bed. He had left his bedroom window open, ostensibly for the fresh summer air, but in actual fact so the owl could get in unobtrusively. He had surreptitiously analysed the Manor wards and remembered what he had learned in sixth year when he had become "the man of the house" as well as his strange experience with directly sensing the magical wards before his time-travel adventure.

It turned out that the wards did not notify his parents when an owl came onto the property, at least at the time. Draco surmised that the ward had therefore been added after fourth year, when the Dark Lord had returned and Lucius had had to be more cautious in ensuring that brass-balls-for-brains Fudge did not get an unfavourable report from some eager-beaver Auror about some of his less-than-legal financial activities (funding Voldemort's renewed war effort was something that one kept rather secret).

Draco made a note to himself to alter any such wards to ignore specific owl magical signatures; this would have the side benefit of giving him a secure way of saying he wanted out if he dared reveal all to Dumbledore and needed a backup plan.

The young blond grabbed his copy of A Guide for Apprentices in Potions, a fairly slim volume that outlined standard Potions techniques as well as basic precautions against dangers in Potions labs. There was also a review of the theory of magical Potions ingredients. He remembered that Snape had given him the guide just after his tenth birthday, and said in his usual no-nonsense tone that Draco should read it immediately.

He then penned a quick reply and sent it back with the owl.

_Dear Harry,_

_Thank you for your swift reply!_

_(And you have no idea how worried I was about being too familiar with your name; in my social circles the way you address someone can be very important) Do not be nervous, though – at school we just use last names unless we know each other well, so you would call my friends Pansy, Vincent and Gregory instead of Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle, once you were properly acquainted with them. At least, my father said __that was the way things were when he went, and I doubt very much that things have changed._

_As for the train I am not certain myself, not having been there before. One thing I do know is that in the magical world we often create barriers or false illusions to distract Muggles. So at the train station there may be a wall or barrier that looks solid, but which you can actually pass through._

_I cannot say I have researched how much weight an owl can carry, but my father has used owl order before (which is a very handy way of getting books from Diagon Alley without having to go to Flourish and Blotts), and the post owls can usually handle three books apiece. Since my owl is younger and smaller, I do not think he can handle that just yet. I have used your owl instead, as she seems to be a bit bigger and stronger._

_Anyway, I have included a supplementary text on Potions. Please be careful with it as it is my only copy and I was given it by Professor Snape himself._

_Wait a week before you reply to this._

_Draco._

- - -

A week later, Potter-no, _Harry_-his reply came, and to his surprise, so did the supplementary text.

_Dear Draco,_

_Thanks very much for the supplemental text! I got a brilliant idea, and slipped out to the local library to get it photocopied. I nicked some money off my cousin to do it; the idiot was more interested in blabbing about his Smeltings stick (what a device used to hit people has to do with character development is beyond me, although apparently not beyond my uncle. I have to conclude his brain works in some kind of alternate dimension) than paying attention to his wallet in his bedroom._

Draco snickered and marvelled at how openly Potter expressed the characteristic Slytherin trait of witty barbs about other people. Perhaps being around the Weasleys had dulled the brain in the old timeline, although the blond suspected it was being around that Ronald especially that really did it. That bint the Weaselette and the two prankster twins were devilishly smart otherwise; Potter the Gryffindor certainly never snarked about people, but, in a rush of wonder, Draco thought maybe Potter the _Slytherin_ would.

_Anyway, so I have a copy of the book now, so I can return it to you. So far I've read and memorised the standard lab techniques. I never realised there was so much work involved in making a potion! I hope I'll be up to the task at school. I'll be starting on the magical ingredients theory later on._

Draco wondered what exactly a photocopied-thing was, and concluded it had to be the muggle equivalent of a duplication charm. Against his will, he began to wonder just what other marvels the muggle world had, if they had things that could copy _books_.

_I'm still having a hard time believing I really am a wizard. When I came to Diagon Alley everybody seemed to know who I am. I even met Professor Quirrell, who seems to have a speech problem, and he'll be the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. Hagrid said he'd been off to some Black Forest to chase a vampire._

Alarmed, Draco stopped and goggled at the letter. He'd met the possessed Quirrell _already_? Harry had even unintentionally told the blond where Voldemort had been before he began the long process of resurrection!

Lucius had told his son an abridged version of the events that happened at the end of fourth year; one thing that he had been told was the Dark Lord's story of what he'd been up to all those years. He had made a casual remark about a "young and foolish man" who he had possessed, who had been a professor at Hogwarts. Since only Quirrell had disappeared after first year it took little mental effort to deduce what had happened.

At the time though, Draco had not really made the connection, but as his memories of that talk came back, so did the connections that he had previously ignored. Uneasily, he read on.

_Anyway, with you helping me I feel a bit better about the whole thing, and I definitely hope I see you on the Hogwarts Express. It's a shame you can't introduce me to your parents; I wish I could learn more about the magical world (not that you're unhelpful or anything, mind – it's just that they might have known my parents) in times past._

_Harry._

His face twisted as he remembered Potter's reactions whenever he or someone else had made cracks about the boy's parents. This letter was just another reminder of how much the boy missed and idolised his parents, to the point of unthinkingly imagining that everybody in the world had only good things to say about James and Lily Potter.

Draco slammed his hand on his desk. He thought, _Damn you, Potter. Why did I promise to stand by you?_

He realised he still meant to keep that promise; Malfoys never broke promises.

* * *

Author Note:

Evidence for Harry's ability to make witticisms about people come from remarks he's made to Dudley in Philosopher's Stone, such as "(t)he poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it -- it might be sick." said to Dudley after the latter makes comments about practicing the Smeltings first-year hazing on Harry. Twisting Dudley's words around and tying him in mental knots strikes me as quite Slytherin. :)

Thanks go, as always, to **Maddevillechilde** for the beta-ing. :)


	6. Dreams and Reflections

**Erasing Time's Tracks**  
Chapter 6

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

Draco Malfoy could no longer ignore a very real problem he was having: dreams.

He had woken up that morning, shaking in terror as he relived, once again, that horrible night after Snape had killed Dumbledore.

_They had Apparated to the mansion where the Dark Lord was living. They had mounted the stairs –__ Draco with trepidation, Snape with an unreadable exterior __–_ _then headed for the antechamber. There, Amycus and Wormtail were waiting to receive the pair, and wordlessly escorted Professor Snape and Draco to the usual meeting room, where his throne like chair sat at one end, and a fireplace occupied the middle of one of the long walls. The rest of the room was bare stone._

_Inside the room that night, several Death Eaters waited. Bellatrix Lestrange looked positively furious, and judging from the smirk that Snape was wearing, he had managed to outfox her with his murder of Dumbledore. The rest of the unmasked Death Eaters wore expressions ranging from neutral to anticipatory._

_Draco, quivering, stood as steadily as possible beside Snape after the two assumed a deferential stance a few feet away from the imposing throne. The white-faced monster who was sitting in it spoke menacingly. _

"_I have heard from Greyback that the raid on Hogwarts achieved its objective of sowing terror and discord. However, disturbing news has also reached me, Severus."_

_The now ex-Potions master wasted no time and launched straight into condemning Draco. _

"_My Lord, I was waiting to ensure no-one at Hogwarts suspected me while the raid went on, when I received news that young Malfoy was on the Astronomy Tower with Dumbledore. I rushed upstairs to ensure he would successfully complete his task._

_His cold voice grew more ominous. _

"_He wavered, and was attempting to argue with the old man, wasting precious time. I was forced to step in and murder the old man, completing the task that Draco had been given."_

_The Dark Lord looked grim as he said, "Severus, I believe now would be a good time to remind Mr Malfoy of the, shall we say, reward for failure."_

_Draco quailed as Snape turned, stepped back, whipped out his wand, and snarled, "Crucio."_

_The pain was so severe that the young blond lost consciousness briefly after feeling as though all of his bones were crushed simultaneously. As he came to, the wand was pointed at him again, as the owner bellowed, "Vomica Cruor!"_

_The Blood-Boiling Hex threw Draco into anguished cries as the unbearable heat flowed through his body, leaving him sobbing and snivelling on the hard stone as blood dripped out of his nose after the hex terminated. He shakily got to his hands and knees, and coughed, spitting blood on the stone floor._

_Snape had sneered at him in utter contempt before he turned around again._

"_My Lord, this young brat who blew my cover is not worth my further time. I shall leave him for you or the others to discipline if you so desire."_

_The Dark Lord took that occasion to say, "Dearest Bella, something appears to have given you an upset stomach. Would you like to elaborate?"_

"_It is nothing, my Lord." Her gaunt face rearranged itself into a slightly less poisonous scowl, and her Master purred, "Bella, join me in instructing young Malfoy in the art of dual curses."_

_A moment later, two voices bellowed, "Crucio!"_

_Draco Malfoy writhed on the floor as the pain crashed into him repeatedly._

- - -

At that point, Draco snapped instantly to wakefulness, breathing hard as he wiped the sweat off his forehead and shuddered at the dream/memory he'd relived. He remembered what happened after he had been cursed by Voldemort and Aunt Bellatrix; he had been tortured for several minutes after that (he never could work out exactly how long it was; the fact that he was still sane was rather more important), then left for dead in an undignified heap.

The Dark Lord had said, "Leave the rubbish on the floor. The rest of you, come with me."

Somehow, after who knew how long he lay there, he had summoned up reserves of energy and staggered out of the mansion, unobserved by anyone, intending to get away and use his Portkey, which had been cleverly hidden as one of his Malfoy family rings.

He sometimes still had a hard time believing he was alive, and in his eleven-year-old self, instead of dead at the hands of the capricious Lord Voldemort who threw away human lives like so much scrap parchment.

Draco shoved himself out of bed, grabbed his wand, and muttered "_Tempus_."

It was six o'clock in the morning. Luckily, his room was some distance from the one his parents occupied, and he had become quite proficient at silencing charms anyway, so any untoward shouts would go unheard. He had instructed Dobby the barmy house-elf to ensure he was in no real danger, in the event that the silencing charms blocked shouts due to things other than nightmares.

He gave up on getting any more sleep, and trying to keep from attracting the attention of his parents, the young blond had the elf begin drawing a bath. He cast a cleaning charm on his sweaty pyjamas, then chucked them in a random direction.

In the bath, he tried to take his mind off his horrible memory by considering what he knew about Harry Potter.

In his first year, many rumours had gone around about Professor Quirrell, given that he stuttered and seemed afraid of his own shadow; one such rumour was that the man was a vampire – and had been up to something before he had then turned up dead. Potter had somehow been involved.

_Something about a stone?_

Draco was uncertain as he had been absolutely incensed when Dumbledore threw the House Cup to Gryffindor that year.

As for the year after that, _everybody_ knew about Potter the Parselmouth (thanks to Draco's facility with a snake conjuration spell), the petrified students and the sudden and miraculous destruction of whatever it was that had been threatening the school. The rumours claimed that the monster had been a basilisk, or that one had been involved in some way. The blond shuddered at the thought of such a creature freely moving about the school. He himself had only made the connection to a diary his father had kept when the Dark Lord had been rather furious over Lucius's inept handling of the entire thing.

And then came third year, complete with those horrid dementors.

Draco shuddered at the memory. Nobody really knew what had happened to Sirius Black, but Remus Lupin, the Defence Professor, had been forced to resign once Severus Snape had let it slip to his favoured blond pupil (along with other Slytherins), who then recalled with some embarrassment how easily he had been manipulated into scurrying around rumour-mongering about how the man was a werewolf. He still disliked werewolves – Greyback was definitely not one to be trifled with – but he would be blasted if he would let someone use his prejudices to push his buttons like some sort of portal to Diagon Alley.

He wondered at the significance of the fact that Peter Pettigrew tended to be called Wormtail. Snape had always regarded the man with patronising contempt. The Dark Lord had laughed quite insanely at the notion that Sirius Black had ever been a Death Eater, so it was possible the man had been wrongly convicted; hadn't the original alleged victim been Pettigrew? Additionally, Draco's sneaking and spying around Malfoy Manor as well as at Hogwarts had led to overhearing some interesting snatches of conversation – such as the time the slimy Potions master had ranted to Lucius, during fourth year on a Hogsmeade visit, something about how "Potter, just like his father and _his_ little friends, will get all the glory along with his little friends thanks to that arseface Crouch—"

Many of the Death Eaters he had momentarily known of had attended the prestigious school some twenty or thirty years ago, and he knew Snape had been at Hogwarts in the 1970s, along with James Potter. The exact significance of this he could not determine, but it stood to reason that the latter had gotten into scrapes with the former.

It was not exactly unlike his interactions with a certain messy-haired, green-eyed boy, and it was easy to see that Harry Potter quite resembled his father, as Merlin only knew how many people commented on it in first year and sporadically afterward. The way Snape had acted towards the Boy who Lived clearly indicated that he had assumed the boy to be a clone of his father, which Draco thought a bit ironic given that people simply _assumed_ that he was exactly like his own father, Lucius Malfoy.

The memories of his fourth year reminded the young blond exactly how much of a cock-up the whole Triwizard Tournament had been. Draco flushed at his immaturity with that stupid "Potter Stinks" stunt, and remembered that rumours abounded about how "Mad-Eye Moody" had actually been an impostor of some kind, and that Potter had gotten the worst of it in an encounter with the Dark Lord and had been lucky to escape along with Cedric Diggory's body.

He really did not want to think about the two years that came after that one, but he briefly considered the way that he had sucked up to that odious Dolores Umbridge by being on the Inquisitorial Squad, and how he had abused his power just because he could. There had been rumours of an illegal Blood Quill as well, although nothing substantial about that quill was confirmed. Another strange thing was the Remedial Potions Potter had been going to. Right around that time, the attitude that Snape had towards Potter had sunk to an all-time low, and the man had sneered when Draco had casually mentioned it.

"His ability at Potions," Snape said derisively, "is not worth my time outside of class. Now, was there a purpose to this visit or are you simply looking for more ammunition against the precious Golden Boy Potter?"

And as for his sixth year…Merlin, what a complete balls-up _that_ had been. The one thing he had discovered was that Potter had somehow found out that Snape had killed Dumbledore; he dimly remembered the bespectacled teenager screaming about it during the confusing flight from school.

At least now Draco could work out what he would _not_ do, in order that he not impede the Chosen One…

* * *

Author Notes:

So, a short vignette. Draco's experience has been rather traumatic and we see it manifesting here. Additionally, a bit of an overview of the HP books from Draco's perspective. We see he is missing some key pieces of information, such as Occlumency, and the exact relationship among James Potter, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew.

This chapter is in final form, so thanks go to **Kirinin** and **Maddevillechilde** for theirwork as betas. :)


	7. The Hogwarts Express

**Erasing Time's Tracks**  
Chapter 7

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

Draco Malfoy had never been this nervous in the old timeline. The last time around, he had stoically listened as his father filled him with pronouncements about who to associate with and who to avoid. He had met up with Crabbe and Goyle and then managed to carry himself with what he had thought was grace and aplomb, but had really been a mixture of sneering and aloofness. He had reacted far too nastily to Weasley as well, so cementing his place on Potter's shit-list and embarrassing himself to boot, after the boy had basically told him to pound sand.

_This_ time around, however, he knew roughly where people would be and where he would have to be to make sure he could get Weasley out of the way. But the timing would have to be crucial. _Anything_ could throw off his whole game plan. The thoughts about Weasley brought the blond around to thoughts about Hermione Granger.

He still felt resentment towards her, but he realised now that most of it had been due to the completely unnecessary and foolish blood prejudice that had been hammered into him from birth. He had suffered cold lectures from his father about how a Muggle-raised half-blood (Potter) could beat him at Quidditch and how a Mudblood of no worth (Granger) could beat him in class. If his father had had an ounce of sense he would have realised that humiliating his only child over his perceived laziness in not asserting his allegedly innate pureblood superiority was counterproductive.

Draco reminded himself not to sneer at her as well, and _not_ to start calling her a Mudblood. The eleven-year-old part of him could not completely understand why the older part was abandoning some of his father's most cherished ideologies. He knew that it was this part which, since his mannerisms were still somewhat 'hybridised', would feel the impulse to talk down to Potter (which he had managed to restrain well when discussing Hagrid), and ignore Granger.

Unfortunately, Granger was likely to go to Gryffindor again, and his father would be furious if he found out Draco was associating with… _Gryffindors_. Never mind that Draco realised that he had done the most Gryffindorishly foolhardy thing in his life by trying to send his soul back in time using illegal potions and a spell from some old book which could have made flowers come out of his ears for all he knew its validity.

And could he safely be friends with Potter?

His father might accept it as politically astute prior to the Dark Lord's return, but once it was clear that _He_ was coming back, his father would probably demand that he start distancing himself from, or even spying on the messy-haired potential Wizarding Saviour.

All of this and more ran through his mind again and again as he showered, slicked his hair, watched the house-elves go half-barmy packing his trunk (making sure it was the top-flight three-compartment trunk with magically expandable interiors) and finally met his father in the parlour, who was saying, "Draco, I have asked Minister Fudge to provide a top-priority Auror escort and a Ministry conveyance. We will not be Apparating to Platform nine and three-quarters. Perhaps in future, we shall, but for your first year it is important that you get the measure of Slytherin House; sometimes subtlety is the best way to achieve this, which Apparition does not always provide. Now, who have I suggested that you associate with?"

Draco automatically replied, "Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson."

"Good. While we have not formally betrothed you, Draco, the Parkinsons are a good family match for the Malfoys. Do not offend her. The Crabbes and Goyles have been retainers to the Malfoys in times long distant, and the old relationships remain. Their sons will assist you in your endeavours, so do not… upset them."

That last had been said in such a way that Draco knew Lucius didn't really have that high an opinion of Crabbe and Goyle. Sardonically, Draco thought, _well, all that really means is – don't take away their food._

He simply nodded deferentially and tried to stand as tall as he could in the fine Hogwarts robes he'd gotten, complete with a silk shirt and well-tailored, well-starched trousers. A house-elf popped in front of Lucius and said, "Master, Blinky is seeing a ve… hi… something coming close to the gates from the Ministry."

"Very well. Open the door, elf."

With alacrity, the ponderous front doors were opened, and Lucius, Draco and Narcissa made their way along the stone path to the front gates, upon which his father pointed his wand and muttered a complicated incantation (which Draco had learned in sixth year was the spell to open the gates after supplying the right password to the wards). The gates opened smoothly, and the trio regally entered the interior of the expensive, magically-expanded limousine. Two Aurors sat in front along with the driver, and this time he realised a strong silencing charm was part of the luxurious rear, offering better privacy than whatever Muggles used in their version of this vehicle.

The drive took about two hours, during which Draco mentally ignored most of the conversation. It boiled down to "Malfoys lead; they do not follow."

The young blond wondered when his father had taken leave of his senses regarding that titbit of Malfoy lore, since he had certainly seen his proud, stern father bowing and scraping like a house-elf before the Dark Lord. It had to have been midway through fifth year, when he had been dragged along to that Death Eater meeting.

He pushed that unwanted thought away. He knew he loved his father and mother, regardless of what they had done outside of Malfoy Manor. At the same time, he knew his father in particular had made some stunningly bad choices, which were in part due to wilful blindness. For Draco, it had been a shattering experience to realise his parents were imperfect and human; the point was driven home when fifth year had ended with his untouchable father being chucked into Azkaban like a common criminal. Snape had given him a strong dressing-down in private after a summer Potions tutoring session, asking him what he had been _thinking_, attempting to provoke Potter at a time when Potter's word to Dumbledore's ear could have gotten Draco kicked out of school with his wand snapped.

The sudden realisation that Malfoys were not untouchable and that people didn't just resent Malfoy riches, that they resented the very _attitude_ that leaked off the Malfoys (Zabini, for example, was a wealthy pureblood and wasn't resented to the same degree) had given Draco pause. This, followed by several events in his disastrous sixth year had led to a serious re-evaluation of just what he'd been ignoring all those years.

- - -

The walk through King's Cross was a brusque formality. Lucius' dislike of the Muggles surrounding them was barely restrained. Draco wondered if Lucius would have tripped the old lady who had been blocking their way if he could have gotten away with it. In less time than expected, however, the three Malfoys strode as one through the charmed brick wall, and an unfamiliar emotion of returning home rushed through Draco as he took in the brilliantly gleaming steam engine and carriages, along with the milieu of people crowding around, talking, wishing each other good luck and greeting each other.

Draco looked around, and the second emotion he had was one of surprise and shock, as he realised how _young_ everybody looked. His friends were all so… well, _small_! He had gotten used to looking up to his parents fairly quickly, but _this_ experience was quite jarring. He had to close his eyes for a moment and shake his head to clear the confusion just as his father pointed his wife and child towards Pansy Parkinson.

Swiftly, Lucius organised Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle together with his only child. Draco removed his shrunken trunk from his pocket, and tapped it with his wand to get it to magically expand. At that point, he gestured at Crabbe and Goyle, who each grabbed a handle and followed, with Pansy in tow, loading the trunk onto one of the carriages.

He remembered that Potter had gotten on a carriage near the end, and so he pointed at the one right next to it and said, "We'll look in there for an empty compartment."

Since Pansy had already taken her leave of her parents, she stayed behind to indicate the chosen compartment was taken, while Draco, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him as they had done for so many years, returned to his parents.

Lucius stood, every inch of him radiating expectation. He extended his hand, which his son solemnly shook.

"My son," he said, "do not disappoint me. You will spend the next seven years here, and make friends and acquaintances which will carry you on past your time here. Do not antagonise the Headmaster, and remember that you are destined to be a Slytherin. Severus knows to keep an eye out for you, and will apprise me of any troubles you may have."

Draco realised that meant Lucius' spy network had just subtly been extended to Hogwarts. He felt trapped and bound; all of a sudden, he despaired of being able to break free and prove to his father that he could stand on his own, without constantly needing prodding and control.

Narcissa briefly hugged Draco and said, "Do well in school, my young dragon. I shall expect your letter home after the Sorting."

Their sole offspring had smiled slightly and said, "Mother, Father, I will do as you say. May I take my leave?"

His parents nodded gracefully, and they swiftly Apparated out, leaving the blond alone with his lackeys. Before, he'd spent some time meeting other pure-blooded children who mostly went into Ravenclaw or Slytherin, but this time he needed to ditch Crabbe and Goyle and get hold of Zabini.

"Let's get back on the train, boys," he said. "I need to leave you with Parkinson for a few moments, all right? Here's some money for the food cart."

He shoved ten Galleons each into their hands, and Crabbe and Goyle grinned at each other at the thought of all the sweets they could get. On the train, he said to Pansy, "I've got to go talk to Zabini for a moment. Crabbe and Goyle will stay here in case anyone else comes by, all right?"

The pug-faced girl nodded, as she knew the two hulking first-years could keep out any riff-raff trying to take over the compartment. Draco, breathing a sigh of relief at how easy it had been to ditch his hangers-on, stuck his head out the window of the train facing the platform, and checked the crowd quickly for three people: Blaise, Weasley, and Potter. He spotted the red-haired brood quickly, and noted that the two prankster twins were helping a black-haired boy with his trunk. _Two down. That'll be Potter. Weasley's still talking with his mother._

He then located Blaise's mother, standing next to her son who was just about to get on the carriage in front of the one Draco was in. He quickly stepped up (Malfoys do not _dash_) to Blaise, and politely said hello to him and to his mother, who, on seeing Draco, engaged in some banal small talk while eyeballing the rather wealthy and decent-looking Nott senior. Deducing that she wouldn't mind if he dragged Zabini away from her, he said, "Mrs. Zabini, could I talk to Blaise privately for a bit?"

Blaise and Draco renewed their acquaintance, and the young black boy pointed out a taciturn Theodore Nott, along with some other boys Draco knew went to Ravenclaw or Slytherin. Soon, the two boys were in animated chat over the likelihood that the Boy Who Lived would show up on the Hogwarts Express. The black boy was sceptical, citing the likelihood that the Headmaster would, for reasons of security, have Potter transported straight to Hogwarts separately, whereas Draco had an unfair advantage and knew where Potter would be. Nonetheless, for the sake of appearances, Draco airily said that his father had suggested a personal connection with Potter could be important and that the Hogwarts Express was just _so traditional_ that he was sure Potter would be on the train.

Unfortunately, at that moment the train whistle blew, and Draco swore to himself as he realised his timing had been off. He _should_ have finished his chat with Zabini earlier and gotten on the train to find Harry. Damn it!

The boys bet two Galleons either way as the whistle quit, and then swiftly boarded the Express. Draco made his way to the compartment where his future fellow Slytherins were staying, and nervously attempted desultory conversation with Pansy while trying to get Crabbe and Goyle distracted with the thought of food. Finally, he had to remind them of the money he'd given them for the food cart, and that did the job. Pansy shook her head, sneering at Draco's clumsy manipulation of his minions. She said, "My God, Draco, don't you have any bloody finesse?"

Sneering back, he retorted, "Who needs it when it comes to that?"

Crabbe and Goyle just looked perplexed, and went back to discussing Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. It transpired that Goyle had once had an earwax-flavoured one, and he wanted to make sure he didn't get the same one next time.

Theodore Nott came by just as the train started moving, and Draco distractedly attempted to chat with the boy, remembering what had happened in the old timeline. After a few minutes of Draco and Theodore acquainting themselves and casually discussing Draco's mother's Yule party, Draco finally managed to make his escape, saying, "I've got to go see Flint. He's on the Quidditch team."

A good-natured laugh swept the compartment as Pansy and Theodore jokingly rated his chances of getting on the team in first year, and Crabbe and Goyle just grinned, nodding approvingly.

As bad luck had it, Flint was just down the corridor, and as soon as he heard that Draco wanted to be on the Quidditch team in second year, insisted on finding out if Lucius Malfoy would bankroll certain team expenses in exchange for a guaranteed slot for Draco in second year, monopolising his rather valuable time.

Appalled, the blond thought, _Merlin, did people look at me the first time around and just see a bag of Galleons instead of a human being? I thought my fellow Slytherins weren't _that_ grasping and greedy!_

Draco, going through the motions of hedging and negotiating, said, "Well, Flint, it sounds as though we could have a mutually beneficial understanding, but I must write to my father first."

Flint nodded and said, "All right. Get back to me after the Sorting and I'll get you introduced to the rest of the Quidditch team. Time enough to ease out the old Seeker, right?"

Draco finished up with Flint and made a bee-line for Potter's compartment, only to have his plans dashed.

For Ronald Weasley was already in Potter's compartment.

_Shit. Shit! SHIT SHIT SHIT!_

Willing his temper to come under control, he breathed harshly, remembering his Occlumency exercises. They helped settle the mind. He made a note to himself to review Occlumency and strengthen his shields, which he hadn't really had to use much since he'd left the Dark Lord's mansion, as his father was not a Legilimens and his mother doted on him too much to read his mind even if she was a Legilimens.

Draco knocked on the compartment door, and was relieved to see Harry's smile as he opened the door for Draco. He said, "Come in, Draco! Here, I'd like you to meet Ronald Weasley. He came in here 'cause all the other compartments were full."

The young aristocrat blurted, "You're making friends with a _Weasley_?"

Harry fixed him with those expressive green eyes, and said, "And what's your problem with Ron, Draco?"

Embarrassed, Draco back-pedalled, or tried to, as he said, "Er, well… I was just surprised, that's all."

Harry, unconvinced, said, "Uh-huh."

Draco was ready to give up and just let things go when Weasley _had_ to open his gob and say, "Harry, you're not seriously friends with _Malfoy_, are you?"

At that point, Harry, innocent of the Malfoy-Weasley feud, said, "I don't understand why you two don't like each other."

The redhead and the blond looked at each other, both ready to open their mouths and say something, when it suddenly occurred to Draco he didn't _really_ need to be rude to Weasley. That was his father talking, and he wasn't his father. So he closed his mouth again, waiting for the freckled boy to bluster ahead.

Ron said, "But Harry, Malfoy's dad—"

Draco sat next to Harry and icily said, "Pardon me, Weasley, but in case you are blind, my father isn't _here_. So kindly stick to talking about me if you _must_ insult me."

Harry broke in, his face red, saying, "I don't want to hear it. Shut it, both of you, or just get out of here."

Draco and Ron sat in an embarrassed silence as the bespectacled boy fumed, looking out the window. Finally, he said, "Look. I haven't had a lot of friends. Draco here has written to me several times over the summer, making me feel welcome in the wizarding world. Ron, you're a nice bloke. We were having a great chat before Draco came in. Now I don't know why you two don't like each other, but I don't want to be forced to choose between you two. So please, don't make me."

Draco, realising he would need to be civil to a _Weasley_ for once, stuck out his hand and mumbled, "Sorry, Weasley. I'll try to be nice to you, for Harry's sake."

Ron mumbled back, "All right, Malfoy."

The two shook hands for the briefest of moments, and then retreated back to their seats. Awkwardly, the two boys looked everywhere but at each other, and both jumped, startled, when Harry said, "By the way, Draco, your letters have really helped, especially about Potions. I must have re-read that Potions text so many times I'm dreaming about it now!"

Nervous chuckles went around the compartment, and then Harry said, "So how was your summer, Draco?"

Flushing, the blond replied, "Oh, er, it's been all right. After I got my school supplies I read them over, that sort of thing. Flew around the Manor a few times, too."

He wondered if that last had been a mistake when he saw Weasley's ears get a bit red. Luckily, he seemed to be able to remain civil as he said, "I've got a broom, too. Nothing fancy though; it's an old Cleansweep. Er, Malfoy, you follow Quidditch? The Cannons should win this year, yeah?"

"Sorry, Weasley, it's Puddlemere United for me. They've put together a decent team, and their Keeper can stop even the fastest Quaffle throws."

"You're right, but the Cannons just got that new Chaser. They've got a chance, I just _know_ it!"

Draco had to restrain himself from snickering as he remembered the hideous orange colours of the Cannons posters Weasley occasionally praised at the Gryffindor table, and wished he could see the look on the red-haired boy's face if he casually mentioned the Cannons _still_ wouldn't win blasted-all anything in five years.

He replied, "Well, what about the Harpies?"

The conversation after that stayed in the easy channel of professional Quidditch, and Draco felt maybe the danger had passed and he wasn't going to mess it all up for himself.

As Potter was about to open his mouth to ask something after Weasley had mentioned the Wronski Feint, a sharp rapping on the door startled the boys. The bushy hair Draco spotted galvanised him into action. Shoving the door open, he said, "Yes?"

The girl bossily said, "Have you seen a toad? I've got this boy, Neville here, who says he lost his toad."

The blond pondered for a few seconds how best to get rid of Longbottom, then turned to the boy and said, "Longbottom, is it? Listen – unless he's jumped off the Express I expect you'll find him once we debark from the train in Hogsmeade. Or, you can get a Prefect to do the Summoning Charm for your toad. Meanwhile, I _strongly_ suggest you go back to your compartment and read your Potions text."

At Granger's puzzled expression, Draco turned back to her and said, "I'll explain in a moment."

Longbottom looked nervously at the sight of Draco, but seemed to be reassured by the lack of malice. He was just being a good Slytherin – head off trouble before trouble gets to you. If Longbottom mastered even a bit more Potions theory before going to class he might not make so many mistakes. The boy nodded, and strode down the carriage walkway.

Draco got his oar in first, saying, "I don't know your name, er…"

"Hermione Granger. And you are?"

The fair boy took the opening with all due swiftness, and gestured to the bushy-haired girl to come into the compartment. He noted that the Granger reputation for preparation well in advance was evident even at the age of eleven, as she was already in her Hogwarts robes – impressive as most Muggleborns had to be told by the Prefects to change into appropriate attire. He closed and locked the compartment door after her, muttering an additional silencing and locking charm. He briefly noted the old rat Weasley had for a pet. Why it looked familiar, he couldn't quite work out. Probably just that dejy-view thing Muggleborns sometimes mentioned.

As he sat next to Potter again, he said, "I'm Draco Malfoy."

Ron said, "Ronald Weasley."

Harry finished, saying, "I'm Harry Potter."

Her brown eyes went wide open, but Draco hurriedly interposed, saying, "I'm sure you've probably read about Harry, but we should get to know each other properly, not just assume about people based on some book."

The girl seemed to ponder that for a second, and said, very fast, "Have any of you tried magic? I was ever so surprised when I got my Hogwarts letter as neither of my parents or grandparents are at all magical. I got all the books and read them all and even tried some of the spells and they worked."

Goggling, the freckled boy said, "You read _all_ the books _already_?"

The paler boy firmly said, "They're important. Really important. Listen, you all need to stay on the right side of the professors. That's why I told Longbottom to read his Potions book again. Weasley, what I'm about to say, you cannot repeat to anyone else. I don't much care if you think I'm a good bloke or a nasty one, but as I warned Potter here, my father in particular is status-conscious and could make trouble for both of us if you start telling stories. All right?"

Weasley's uncertain nod was all Draco needed. Taking a deep breath, he then continued. "Potter, you are Muggle-raised. Granger, you are Muggleborn. Weasley and I are called pure-bloods. That means both our parents can trace their ancestry back through fully-magical ancestors for hundreds and hundreds of years.

"You, Harry, are what we call a half-blood. The Potters were an old pureblood family as well, but your father married a Muggleborn, thus half-blood."

He sighed, and tried to avoid the instinct to talk down to the upstart magicians.

"You two have probably come here, thinking that this new world of opportunity will offer you nothing but bliss and wonder. Unfortunately, I am here to tell you that it doesn't work that way. You see, the old purebloods tend to intermarry amongst each other, and so a lot of us know each other somewhat – Longbottom's also a pureblood; that's how I knew his last name. Weasley here is a son of the Weasleys and Prewetts. I am a son of the Blacks and Malfoys. The Blacks are another extremely old and parochial pureblood family, whose wealth is matched only by my father's. So as you can work out—"

Granger spoke up, saying, "Of course! The wealth builds up over time and money buys power, and with power comes—"

The blond broke in, continuing. "Precisely. We purebloods effectively control the government, the Ministry of Magic. My father is on a first-name basis with that bloody clot Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge."

Ron said, "Well, you Malfoys are a bit rude to anyone else, my father says. My dad isn't exactly swimming in money, though. Some of the old wizarding families don't have a lot of money."

Draco chose to ignore that, and waited for other comments.

The girl broke in, saying, "Pardon me, but you shouldn't be so disrespectful to authority, Malfoy."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Granger, Fudge is a spineless git. Any man who is so easily bribed is not worth being treated as an equal."

Ron just grunted, saying, "Well, he hasn't given my dad a bloody raise in a few years and the Ministry keep making him work more."

The bushy-haired witch started to say something, and then chewed her lip, perplexed and frustrated. Draco guessed it was the first time Granger had had to come up against someone who really _did_ know more than she did, and it wasn't sitting well with her.

Continuing, he said, "Anyway, as a result of blatant manipulation of the government, we have, what is that Muggle expression – stuffed the docks?"

Potter grinned, saying, "That's 'stacked the deck', Draco."

"Stacked the deck it is, Harry." He grinned back, and continued. "For example, we have an unfair advantage. Our houses are magical, and have been so for generations. That means underage magic isn't traceable if done inside such a house. You two, on the other hand, can be caught instantly if magic is done in your area. Oh, we justify it based on 'magical secrecy' and all that rot, but there are ways of getting around that, or would be if fairness was considered. For example, the Ministry knows where you people live, so they could easily write the law so that if _your_ wand did magic inside _your_ house, the Underage Restriction wouldn't apply.

"But that's not going to happen. Another example is private tutoring some of the pureblood families can afford. That makes us, in general, far readier for Hogwarts than Muggleborns. Examples? Take Potions tutoring. Potter here knows, but you two, Granger, Weasley – take a guess as to who my Potions tutor was."

Neither of his other companions said anything.

"The Potions professor at Hogwarts himself: Severus Snape."

Gasping, Granger said, "But that's _so unfair!_ You… you'll be _miles_ ahead of us!"

At that moment, Draco was unsure of whether to grit his teeth at her bossily injured tone, or feel sincerely regretful that he had never thought about all the unfair advantages purebloods heaped upon themselves. If they had been so sure that their blood status lent them an incalculable advantage over half-bloods and Muggleborns, why be so scared to the point of artificially entrenching a system of pureblood superiority?

The atmosphere got a bit awkward after that, and Weasley ended up making some inane comment about Gobstones, which Draco thankfully replied to, and the conversation got around to chess, and he and Ron animatedly talked for five minutes before the blond realised time was running out and he needed to get back with his father's "approved" friends.

The fair boy abruptly said, "So which houses do you think you'll all be in?"

Granger said, "Well, I read Hogwarts: A History, and it says there are four houses but I think Gryffindor or Ravenclaw would suit me, but I think Gryffindor's better."

He resisted the urge to grit his teeth, again, reminding himself that some people just weren't temperamentally suited for Slytherin. His stomach roiled a bit at the thought of re-entering the snake pit, and he wondered again about Ravenclaw.

Weasley said, "No contest. My family's been in Gryffindor for generations, so it'd be that for me. Maybe Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw, but they'd have a fit if I became a Slytherin."

Draco said, "It might be Ravenclaw, but I'm expecting it'd most likely be Slytherin for me."

He let that dangle, and Potter took the bait.

Harry said, "But wait a second. Hagrid told me a lot of bad wizards came from Slytherin."

Draco snorted, and replied, "Harry, I found out that one of You-Know-Who's Death Eaters was from Ravenclaw. Another was actually from Gryffindor. It's not just Slytherin. All it takes to be a Death Eater or Dark Wizard is a lack of moral principles and a willingness to do abominable things in the name of magic."

He bitterly thought to himself, _And I should know. I _was_ one, and look what I did with it – nearly got myself sliced to pieces when I almost used the Cruciatus on Potter!_

Coming back to the immediate conversation, Draco said, "But anyway, your father, Harry, was in Gryffindor. You look a lot like your father, so just like me, people will judge you on that basis. In particular, I need to warn you _again_ to stay on Professor Snape's good side. Don't backtalk him in class, ever. And look at him when he talks to you. I found out from my father that Sever.. Sorry, Professor Snape had some bad experiences with your father and his friends. _Don't_ give him the chance to assume you're like your dad that way."

Slowly, Harry said, "Maybe if that's the case I shouldn't be in Slytherin, if it comes with all that baggage."

Draco sighed, and said, "Yes, but think about it – if you're in Slytherin, Snape'll be your head of house. It'll be hard to identify you with your Gryffindor father if you're in Slytherin. You want to stand on your own, don't you?"

He wondered if he had really convinced the other three that Slytherin House was not the epitome of horrid evil. He had spotted Slytherin traits in Potter repeatedly, even when he had been a Gryffindor. Potter could brood at times, disconnecting a bit from his friendships in Gryffindor and considering the world in his own solitary way. Slytherins brooded a lot, especially when they, like Potter, had to bear up under the weight of multiple expectations. Gryffindors _never_ brooded, as far as he could tell – and he'd certainly done his fair share of intense observation of Gryffindors.

Even more daringly, Draco realised this could be a coup of immense proportions. Potter had always been Dumbledore's Gryffindor Golden Boy, and by proxy, Gryffindor itself could do no wrong. What if Potter became his _Slytherin_ Golden Boy? The old man's benevolence toward a house traditionally associated with far too many dark wizards could turn the house around and sway some of the undecided people to the light instead of the dark.

Slowly, Harry said, "I didn't know that about my dad. Hagrid praised my mum and dad to the skies, but now that you've told me a different side of things, I'm not sure I want people to think I'm exactly like my dad. But how do we _get_ to where we think our Houses should be?"

"Easy. There's a hat. It considers your mind, and then Sorts you. However, I suspect that if you _ask_ the hat for a House, it might consider your request. And don't go around telling anyone else – yes, Weasley?"

Ron was laughing and scowling. "Bugger me! The twins said I had to wrestle a troll! And all it is, is a sodding _hat_?"

The young celebrity laughed, saying, "Ron, your twins sound like they were having some fun at your expense. Do they like pranks or something?"

The redhead replied, "Oh, yes, they're _always_ up to something. My mum has probably had to yell at them at least once a week about it! They even promised to send Ginny – that's my sister – a Hogwarts toilet seat, if you can believe that!"

Laughter went around the compartment, and Draco thought the tension had eased at about the right point. He decided now was as good a time as any to make his exit.

Draco said, "Anyway, look, I'm knackered. I should go.

"Whatever House you end up in, just remember that we're all going to be in the same school for the next seven years. I may not be able to show my acquaintanceship with you all openly, but rest assured I mean you no harm. All right?"

Harry winked and nodded, while Granger just looked a bit perplexed. Nevertheless, both waved good-bye along with Ron, and Draco shakily wiped the sweat off his forehead as he trudged back to the compartment where Pansy, Vincent and Gregory had been waiting.

Pansy shrilly spoke, saying, "What took you so long, Draco?"

Draco smirked, saying, "You'll never guess who I found on the train."

Even Vincent and Gregory seemed interested enough to give their attention as one of them said, "So who was it, Draco?"

Savouring the words, Draco drawled, "The Boy Who Lived."

Excitedly, Pansy said, "Maybe we should go take a look!"

Suddenly, the blond realized he actually _didn't_ want Pansy rushing up to Harry and fawning all over him. He sneered and said, "Good luck. Practically everybody wants a look and I only had a chance to say hello and then get pummelled by all the other idiots surrounding me."

Pansy's face fell, and Draco cheered inwardly even as he knew he was being a bit spiteful at wanting to keep the Boy-Who-Lived to himself.

* * *

Author Note:

So, here we are :) Thoughts and comments are appreciated regarding the interactions of our new and improved Draco Malfoy. Thanks go to **Maddevillechilde** and **Kirinin** for the beta work.

Addendum - Draceonin made a good point about the value of money, and on reflection even for Draco 40 Galleons for both Crabbe and Goyle is a bit too extravagant. I've lowered than to ten Galleons for each. :-)


	8. Harry Potter goes to Hogwarts

**Erasing Time's Tracks**  
Chapter 8

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

Harry Potter sat in the compartment on the Hogwarts Express, looking from Hermione Granger to Ron Weasley. He mentally reviewed what he already knew about Draco Malfoy.

He had met the boy in Madam Malkin's and had been quite nervous and shy around the blond who clearly seemed to be at home in this amazing new world where magic existed, hidden from the everyday Muggle world. But the boy had been kind, if quite voluble about Kwidditch – no, _Quidditch_; he remembered seeing the name of a book in Flourish and Blotts.

Harry had been surprised to get an owl letter from Draco, and recalled exactly what he'd been doing – it had been a few days after he'd gone to Diagon Alley with Hagrid. He had been reading his Transfigurations text in his bedroom, the window open to let in the summer breeze. Hedwig was sleeping, her head under her wing while on her perch in her cage.

So it was with understandable puzzlement and a bit of alarm that Harry had noticed a dark brown regal-looking, if a bit on the small side, eagle owl swoop in the window, bearing a letter for him. He had cautiously taken the envelope, relieved that it hadn't caused any harm to him, and watched uncertainly as the owl flapped his wings, left his bed, and perched on the windowsill near Hedwig's cage. The white owl had perked up, looked at the eagle owl, then hooted softly. The eagle owl hooted back, and it appeared the two owls saw no harm in each other.

Reassured that Hedwig had given her stamp of approval, Harry opened the envelope and began reading.

He had been a bit put off initially by the formal tone and what seemed a bit like presumptuous behaviour regarding exactly what he knew or did not know. Nonetheless, he had been guardedly happy about being able to write back and forth with the blond, and sympathised when he read about how the young aristocrat had to be somewhat careful around his parents. It reminded Harry all-too-well of his own situation with regard to the Dursleys before he had discovered that he was a wizard.

So Harry had told the eagle owl he could go home, as he didn't know how long the reply might take. He then commenced to write his reply letter, and had enjoyed making smart remarks about his relatives. He imagined that was what boys, with proper parents and real friends sometimes did with their friends. However, he hadn't been too willing to be entirely forthcoming about how his relatives really treated him, and was about to end the letter when Hedwig had swooped down, clearly prepared to snatch the letter up and whisk it off to Draco. Impressed, Harry had quickly appended a comment praising Hedwig, and then sealed the letter in an envelope and addressed it to Draco.

It was a new feeling to know someone out there actually cared enough to address correspondence to him.

- - -

Nicking some of Dudley's money had almost felt like second nature to him, although it had been something of a risk doing so; Hagrid's cowing of his horrible muggle relatives had been a bit of a boost to Harry's self-confidence. Anyway, if Draco could not bear to be parted with an important book, then far be it from him to selfishly keep the book longer than needed. Luckily, it had looked like a fairly ordinary tome when he had slipped into the local library to photocopy all thirty pages of fairly dense printing, plus diagrams. Otherwise it would have been quite the job explaining the book to any curious passers-by.

But…him, a wizard! It was still so hard to believe – Sorting Hats! Brooms! Houses! Harry had to damp down a sudden nagging fear that he would be brought to Hogwarts, and told there had been some horrible mistake and, so sorry, but he would have to be sent back to Number Four Privet Drive. Uncertainly, he gave his wand an idle flick, and was rewarded with a small burst of warmth in his hand; it felt reassuring.

Harry was filled with conflicting feelings about his parents; so many people who were complete strangers had praised his parents, and yet… some people had had problems with his Dad. What made it worse was that it sounded like some people in this world he hadn't known a thing about held some very long grudges, and he knew from his time at the Dursleys that people who held grudges could be quite petty about them.

Yet a voice nagged at the back of his head, that defying expectations by consciously striking out on a path different from his father's would give him a slight advantage, because people would not pigeonhole him. He was about to mention something like this when Ron spoke up.

"Blimey! That Malfoy is one weird one, isn't he?"

Hermione replied quickly, "Well, you should know him better than I do, seeing as you're one of those pure-bloods he talked about. But I got the impression he was honestly trying not to talk down to us, and particularly wanted to be Harry's friend, but is that just because Harry's the Boy-Who-Lived?"

Harry, about to reply, paused and frowned.

"I don't think so, Hermione," he said with some thought. "Look, most of the people I met at Diagon Alley wanted to fawn all over me and wouldn't shut up about all these great things my parents did or that I supposedly did, even though I barely remember anything except this green light."

Ron looked ill, and after a moment or two he asked in a strangled whisper, "_Green_ light?"

Harry was perplexed by the reaction his friend had. "Yeah, it was green. Why?"

The redhead choked out quite loudly, "You survived a _Killing Curse_, Harry! Nobody's ever lived to tell what one feels like!"

Somewhat grumpily, the other boy replied, "It's not like I remember anything useful, Ron. Anyway, look – Draco didn't fawn over me at all at Madam Malkin's, where I first met him, and he wrote back and forth to me like I was a normal person, although he was frank about how much people seem to have written about me in books and such.

"Anyway, I would give him the benefit of the doubt."

Ron replied guardedly, "I don't know, mate. His father's pretty wealthy and powerful, and my Dad says the Malfoys didn't need cursing or enchanting to follow You-Know-Who. But… well, I just can't see Malfoy being much different from his Dad."

It was then that Hermione broke in.

"He seems to be trying, though, Ron," she said. "I have no idea how applicable this is, but my parents are dentists and we're certainly not hurting for money, so we live in a nice area and other people live much like we do. This one girl in the house next to mine, who house-sits when my parents go out for dinner, goes to a rather expensive public school, and she's constantly going on about how she wants to be nothing like her parents, but it's hard because if she pushes too much they could punish her, or make her life difficult while she's still living with them.

"And in the wizarding world, I have no idea what kind of punishments there could be for disobedience, but they cannot be very nice, especially if you can kill someone with just a wand."

Ron seemed to realise something and muttered, "Blimey!"

Harry was still puzzled. "What?"

His freckled friend gulped again. He said, "Mate, I just realised… there's these curses that can really hurt you, you know? What if Malfoy's dad used them on him if he disobeyed?"

An appalled silence descended around the compartment as the three processed the implications of Draco Malfoy's punishments, if his father chose to employ those methods.

Harry didn't know why he said it, but he said, "I don't know about you two, but if I can possibly help it, I'm sticking by Malfoy. He's the first person besides you two that treated me like a normal human being, instead of like rubbish, or some god. Where he goes, I'm going."

Hermione, in fifth year, in another world, would have referred to it as a "nascent saving-people thing."

Ron looked rather outraged. He spluttered, "But… Slytherin!"

For his excuse he found himself fixed with a penetrating green gaze, as Harry said, "What about it? If someone like Draco, who, according to you, should be acting like a right spoiled brat, can be a Slytherin, then who's to say I should go into Gryffindor just because that's what everybody else thinks? Doing what everybody else thinks is what my cousin Dudley does, not me."

"All right…and I can't believe I'm saying this, but… I guess we're still friends, right?"

Harry grinned and said, "Sure we are, Ron."

"Well then, if you can stand it in Slytherin, I guess I can."

Hermione broke in bossily.

"That's all very well and good of you two to stand by Draco Malfoy, but what if it backfires on you? If what he says is correct at all, then there's likely to be quite a few people who wouldn't hesitate to make life miserable for you. From what I can tell of wizarding society, it's much more conservative than Muggle society, which means that people who are considered inferiors are generally expected to just shut up and take it; he even _said_ you're a half-blood, Harry. I can't see any difference between you two except for the hair and all that, but for some idiotic reason these people seem to think who you had for parents is so important."

Ron, a bit confused, said, "What are you getting at, Hermione?"

Exasperated, she said, "What I am _trying_ to tell you blockheads is if this Draco Malfoy is the exception rather than the rule, what makes you think he won't succumb to pressure from his father and bail out on you two when the going gets tough? People don't get disowned much in the Muggle world anymore, but if wizarding society is, as I said, more conservative, then that rather archaic and barbaric tool of forcing children into line might be quite common."

Harry and Ron had looked daggers at their Muggle-born fellow when she called them blockheads, but as she had quite the lung capacity, she had simply driven on to her inescapable conclusion and the two settled back to think.

Finally, Harry said, "Disowned or not, I am not going to drop a friend just because it's inconvenient for me. I'm sticking by Malfoy and that's that. Show me anyone else you know of, Ron, who wouldn't just fawn over me right away, other than your twin brothers."

Hermione, who would have never admitted to herself or anyone else that she had something of a "helping-people thing", said, "Fine. If you two can rush ahead into unknown waters, then far be it from me to dissuade you. Wherever you're Sorted and wherever I'm Sorted, I'll try to stay your friend."

Harry smiled again, and said, "I'd be glad to, Hermione."

Ron flushed a bit, and said, "Me too."

The three tentatively looked at each other, and then sighed in some relief as the candy witch came around again. Harry didn't splurge like he had the first time the woman had come by, but just for fun he tried a Steaming Whizz-bang, which was supposed to make steam come out of your ears for a few seconds and turn your face a bit red, while Hermione _tsked_ disdainfully at the sugary confections still littering the seats.

The three young children began chatting about other things, but Harry occasionally thought about that unusual boy, Draco Malfoy. His grey eyes had seemed to light up a bit when he talked to Harry, and Harry had felt an unusual surge of… something… each time he'd shaken Draco's hand. Maybe it was just something to do with magic, but Harry didn't have any idea what it could be.

* * *

Author Notes:

Here's what Harry was thinking and doing after that meeting in Madam Malkin's. Thanks go to **Maddevillechilde** and **Kirinin** for their excellent help and suggestions. :) (And yes, the Sorting will be next chapter) The Steaming Whizz-bang is the name I gave to the candy Harry eats in the movie of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.

A word on this chapter. I realize that it has Ron _assuming _Draco's punishments are very severe. Remember that (from Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels) that assumptions are the brother of all f-ups. :) Just as we know Harry makes assumptions that turn out to be untrue, so can Ron. The funny thing is, it's little twists like just how Hermione sees something in Draco and draws it out by analogy that leads Ron to see "the other side of the story", so to speak and can legitimately sympathize with Draco... and the rest is (changed) history. ;)

iamanevilgenius caught a minor mistake in this chapter. That's been fixed. :)


	9. Surprise Sorting

**Erasing Time's Tracks**  
Chapter 9

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

Draco Malfoy debarked from the train along with the other first-years, ensuring that Crabbe and Goyle stayed with him, along with Pansy. The big half-giant, Hagrid, was already bellowing, "Firs' years this way!" as they stepped onto the soaked, dark platform, to make their way out to the boats that would go across the lake.

The foursome sat in a boat, huddling in their robes as Hogwarts loomed massively before them. Hardly had they set foot on dry land again when they were presented to the stern Professor McGonagall, and the young aristocrat, never that fond of the Deputy Headmistress, nevertheless felt a rush of giddiness as he noticed that her hair was still black in some places, and the marks of stress and aging were gone from her face.

The nervous new students trooped down to an antechamber near the Great Hall, which they then entered after a brief overview of the rules. They stood in a queue near the stool, where Draco knew the Sorting Hat would be placed.

McGonagall placed the tatty hat solemnly on the stool, and it ran through its song, which had not changed from last time.

A Hat that had quite the hidden range of talents reached out, and saw the minds of the first-year students. It began to catalogue possibilities, determine who would go where, for later verification when it would get a closer look at their minds.

It noticed a strange influence at work; one boy in the crowd was different from the rest, in some manner it couldn't yet determine completely. But that boy's desires were clear: he wanted to change things in some way, ways that the Hat had privately agreed would work better in the long run.

With the benefit of a thousand years of Sorting, it decided to help things along.

Minerva McGonagall held the parchment before her, and firmly said, "Abbott, Hannah!"

And so the Sorting began...

**oOoOo**

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione Granger nervously stepped forward, feeling a bit foolish after having muttered any number of spells under her breath before she realised the Sorting was based on the use of a Hat that somehow analysed people.

As she sat on the stool, and felt the hat envelop her face, she heard a rather amused voice.

**Well, well, Miss Granger. I see I was not mistaken about your intelligence and aptitude for learning.**

_I think I should like Gryffindor, if you please, or Ravenclaw._

**Ah, now there is the rub, Miss Granger. For I see a certain latent ambition in you; you have had the desire to prove yourself the most intelligent, the most mentally agile of all, from a very young age. However, if I may take a step back and put this in a broader context, the wizarding world has become too complacent in recent decades. It's far past time that the winds of change blew through Hogwarts.**

_It is true that the wizarding world is more conservative than the Muggle world, but from what it sounds like, you want to put me in… Slytherin._

**That is indeed my plan. I do not share Salazar's prejudices, and I think it high time to upset the apple cart, as you Muggleborns say. Mister Potter, your friend, has a very strong mental aptitude for Slytherin, incidentally. If he plays his cards right, you and he could orchestrate quite the brilliant plan to remake Slytherin.**

Nervously, Hermione Granger took the plunge.

_Then I will take Slytherin._

**Be warned, Miss Granger. If you choose this, you will be subject to scrutiny and ostracism from within and without Slytherin. But the rewards can be far greater than the trials and tribulations you will endure. If you have any doubts, I will send you on to Ravenclaw.**

Hermione Granger's stubborn force of will in the face of all adverse circumstances rose to the fore. She set her jaw and mentally replied frostily, _Slytherin it is. I'll show those so-and-sos_.

**Then it is settled. You shall be the first of four to reform—**

"SLYTHERIN!"

Jaws dropped throughout the Great Hall as Hermione Granger, Muggleborn witch, the smartest of her generation at Hogwarts, primly took the Hat off her head. She then sat at the Slytherin table, firmly eyeing the several older Slytherins who looked at her with contempt.

**oOoOo**

"Malfoy, Draco!"

Draco Malfoy had been gobsmacked when the Sorting Hat placed the Mudb… _Granger_…in Slytherin. Clearly it had recognised some kind of driving ambition in her that his conversation with her had somehow awakened, or redirected, that would otherwise have put her in Gryffindor.

Warily, he stepped forward, thinking, _I need to speak to the Hat, I need to speak to the Hat_, as he put it on.

**A Malfoy who is not so keen on Slytherin, I see.**

_Why did you put Granger in Slytherin? She's a Mudblood, for Merlin's sake. Everybody will shun her, and abuse her!_

**Orchestrating your plans, already, Mr Malfoy? Yes, I see all that is in your mind. You were Sorted once, and it had consequences you could not have foreseen. But I will not let you get off so easily. Your own choices played a role too. Legilimency is a talent the Founders placed in me, and as much as Miss Granger might have felt at home in Ravenclaw, there is an iron determination in her that simply cries out for Slytherin. She seemed to accept that, and allowed my placement.**

_But how in Merlin's name am I supposed to make the rest of my House back off from her? She's one hell of a smart witch, and it'd be a shame to waste that talent._

**You are the one trying to remake the world, not me.**

_Sod you, Hat._

**In any case, I see you have plans that involve a certain black-haired boy, and like it or not, you have been saddled with Mr Weasley. I see that in another world, I Sorted the Potter boy into Gryffindor. This is at odds with his intense desire to prove himself, so I cannot see how I made such a mistake – unless, Mr Malfoy, he, like you, discovered that arguing with me could produce better results, at least in the short term.**

_You actually think Potter was _destined_ for Slytherin?_

**There is no doubt. Incidentally, I think you have seriously underestimated young Weasley. The boy is a chess player, and those who play chess usually show a fair degree of strategic thinking.**

_All right, then. Frankly, I would prefer a Weasley that I could enjoy trading barbs with._

**Then I shall have quite the surprise for Mr Weasley. As for yourself, what shall it be?**

_Well, in the end, I think I should like Ravenclaw._

**I'm sure you would, but your plans and ambitions are worthy of the greatest— **

"SLYTHERIN!"

_Shit._

**Oh, don****'****t mind me. Now do be a good boy and take me off your head.**

Draco looked around at the group of students, and none looked particularly put out that the Hat had seemed to take its time deciding where he would go. If asked, he would just say the Hat had wavered between Ravenclaw and Slytherin before finally placing him.

But what the Hell was he going to do about Granger? He had never heard of a Mu… well, Muggleborn getting sorted into Slytherin. Maybe they'd just kept very quiet about it? Maybe Professor Snape would know.

**oOoOo**

"Potter, Harry!" was called.

A wave of anticipation built throughout the hall as a perplexed and nervous Harry Potter sat, the Sorting Hat very nearly enveloping his entire face.

**Hello, Mister Potter.**

_Hello, Mister Hat._

**My, a polite one, I see. So, where shall I put you? Difficult. _Very_ difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, too. I should think, on balance, that Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness.**

_What exactly do you mean by that?_

**You caught that, I see. The problem, Mister Potter, is that 'greatness' takes no account of evil or good. Your Muggle Adolf Hitler is considered 'great' in the sense that he made his mark on history. Equally, your Muggle Franklin Roosevelt, for vastly different reasons, is also considered 'great'. It will be up to you, Mister Potter, how you use your talents and abilities. I would suggest that you stand by Miss Granger, however. She has been sent along a difficult path, the path of erasing useless prejudice and division. I will warn you now, Mister Potter – being a Slytherin has a tendency to make others wary of you. Especially if you ever choose to reveal that you can talk to snakes.**

_Snakes? What's so special about snakes? And yes, I'd rather be 'great' for good things than bad. What idiot wouldn't?_

**If I may be forgiven for pointing out the blindingly obvious, you should research how a certain person named Tom Riddle got his start here at Hogwarts and beyond. In any case, I do believe it is Slytherin, then?**

_Yes._

"SLYTHERIN!"

And the Great Hall broke out in murmurs of surprise as the green-eyed boy made his way to sit next to Hermione, across from Draco at the end of the table. The grey-eyed boy nodded slightly at Harry, then turned his head back to the Sorting.

**oOoOo**

"Weasley, Ronald!"

Ron Weasley wasn't sure what to say. Both Hermione and Harry had gone to _Slytherin_! And Muggleborns had an especially hard time there, from what he knew – his Dad had known one who had gone through Slytherin in the 1960s, and the boy had been very lonely during his time at Hogwarts. Some half-bloods had tried to be friends with him, but the purebloods who ruled the House had been adamant about shunning the boy.

Well, blast it, he'd have to see about being there to protect Hermione, wouldn't he?

As the Hat enveloped his head and nearly covered his face, he heard the voice.

**Ah, a Weasley, eh? Normally I would shout "Gryffindor!" and be done with it, but I see you want to be like your friend Mister Potter.**

_What… what do you mean?_

**You have felt somewhat unnoticed in a large family. You would like to prove your worth and strike out on an independent path. _That_ is the mark of a Slytherin.**

Ron steeled himself, and tried to suppress his reflexive dislike of Slytherin House. He'd promised Harry he'd stick by the bloke, and he meant it.

_Well, let's get it over with then._

If the Hat could have had a face, it would be radiating with amusement.

**And so we shall. However, I have to inform you that should you think about setting foot in Slytherin, you had better be prepared to use those chess skills of yours for a lot more than just trouncing your dragon-taming brother. You'll be dropped into a House for which the pureblood traditions still mean something, even if your family largely pays lip service to them now.**

_I'm ready._

**Good.**

"SLYTHERIN!"

The Great Hall murmured as the first Weasley in generations went to the snake house. Some Slytherins muttered "blood traitor", while others privately considered the possibility that _this_ Weasley might bring some interesting times ahead.

**oOoOo**

The Sorting ended with Blaise Zabini going to Slytherin like last time, Draco observed.

Draco had felt like bellowing his relief to the stars when he had realised that Potter had gone to Slytherin, and had been surprised when Weasley had actually been Sorted there. He had looked up at Professor Snape, who seemed surprised and worried at the announcement when Potter had been Sorted, and then looked at Dumbledore, who seemed to be frowning. Draco's relief vanished as he mentally groused about stereotypes and preconceptions.

Draco switched seats and sat on Potter's right side, with Granger on the green-eyed boy's left, followed by Weasley. Crabbe and Goyle sat to Draco's right. Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini sat across from them, and while Blaise had the grace to shut up while dinner materialised on the tables, Nott was _gauche_ enough to say, "What the Hell do you think you're doing, sitting next to a Mudblood, Weasley? Even though you're in Slytherin you still have to be a blood traitor, don't you?"

Potter, Granger, and Weasley all looked up as one at Nott. Draco affected a disinterested face, and Crabbe and Goyle looked up, noticed Draco's apparent lack of interest, and went back to eating. The blond inwardly swore to himself as he wondered why Nott had to be a complete idiot. Slytherins _never_ turned on each other in public!

However, Potter's eyes were doing something interesting. Somewhat like that day in Madam Malkin's, when Draco had noticed that intensity that marked the Chosen One, his eyes were radiating intensity as he stared flintily at Nott. Granger was looking daggers at Nott, while Weasley, of course, was completely _outraged, _and growled, "Shut up!"

Nott apparently noticed Potter's eyes, since he seemed to shrink back a bit. Draco looked pleadingly at Blaise, who elbowed Nott slightly and pointed at the boy's plate. Draco guessed he was telling Nott to eat before the food disappeared.

At that moment, the Bloody Baron showed up near the table, startling the first-years as he surveyed the table, then said in his rasping tone, "Welcome, new Slytherins. Welcome, indeed. I trust you all will help continue the proud Slytherin hold over the House championship."

Gobsmacked, all the first-years nodded as one, and didn't say a word as the Bloody Baron took up a spot near Theodore Nott, who had incautiously left too much room between him and Daphne Greengrass.

After the feast began, Blaise, Draco and Harry began talking. It transpired that the latter of the three had never been out of the country before, and the two pure-blooded boys kept him entertained with stories of travel to exotic locations.

Draco particularly remembered Quirrell with that stupid turban was sitting at the High Table, and so guessed correctly what had happened as soon as Potter happened to look in that direction, clapped his hand to his head, and yelped, "Ouch!"

"What happened, Harry?"

"My scar…"

"Has it ever hurt before?" Draco asked, somewhat concerned.

"Well, er, no."

"That settles it. We are talking to Professor Snape after the first-year orientation, all right?"

"Draco, I'm sure it's nothing, really."

"Harry, we are _going to see our Head of House_."

Luckily, Harry seemed averse to getting into an argument, and he went back to eating industriously. Weasley and Granger seemed to have settled into desultory, if uneasy, conversation given the stares from several members of the rest of Slytherin.

Now that Draco had heard more about Potter's home life, he realised the bespectacled boy owed his short stature and eating habits to something clearly indicative of the same ilk that affected some of his fellow Slytherins – the insecurity that came with child abuse. He had heard, indirectly, of the recourse Professor Snape had taken in such matters.

Traitor to Dumbledore or not, the man _was_ protective of his Slytherins and he would help Potter out, if he had to. _Now to make sure the two didn't strike fireworks off each other…_

Even as Draco thought this, the feast ended, and Dumbledore got up to make his beginning-of-term announcements. The Weasley twins got their gentle reminder about the Forbidden Forest, and then he rattled on about Filch, Quidditch trials, and the third-floor corridor. Draco wondered, as he had previously, why the _right_ side door was the important one.

Too late, Draco remembered the school song. Wincing in agony as he heard his fellow students butcher all sense of rhythm and proper singing, he mumbled the words as quickly as possible, and tried not to indulge the impulse to hex the Weasley twins for that bloody funeral dirge.

The path to the Slytherin dungeons was pretty much as Draco remembered, with two trick staircases lengthening the journey slightly as they trotted along a corridor one level up from the path to the dungeons, then went down the mate to the first trick stairway that had prevented them from simply going straight ahead.

The prefect, Terence Higgs, stood before the blank stone wall, which was marked only by a rather strategically placed piece of moss on one stone. He said, a bit pompously, Draco thought, "Ducat Lex."

The hidden door slid open, and again, the familiar rush of memory came to Draco as he saw the Slytherin Common Room. Four well-appointed couches made a square around a polished oak table, while numerous study carrels (chairs with smaller tables, strategically placed so a student could sit with his or her back to at least one wall in the room) dotted the room. The whole room was done in the familiar silver-and-green motif, with a gigantic wizard painting of Salazar Slytherin over the fireplace. The air felt a bit cold and dank, and Draco remembered that the Slytherin dorms actually extended out somewhat underneath the lake.

Slytherin seemed to be eyeballing Granger with a bit of distaste, and Draco fervently hoped he wouldn't shoot his mouth off and start calling her a Mudblood.

Higgs spoke loudly, getting the first-years' attention.

"Attention, all of you." He said. "You've been shown the way to the Slytherin dorms. You will have noticed that the Potions classroom is not far from here. Our Head of House is Professor Snape, and he teaches Potions here at Hogwarts. He'll be coming here in a few moments to give you all instructions for proper Slytherin behaviour.

"One important piece of information I will emphasise _right now_ is that you must not give the Slytherin password to anyone outside of Slytherin, and do not speak it in front of anyone who isn't a Slytherin. Furthermore, memorise the way here by noting landmarks on the way, because it never pays to be less than fully aware of where you are in school. Lack of awareness can lead to bad consequences for you, if members of other Houses take it into their minds to hex you in the back.

"Finally, the password changes every week. Make sure you get the new password from me, or one of the other Prefects, as quickly as possible after the change. The rest of your orientation will be handled by Professor Snape. For now, take seats on the couches.

"Oh, and Nott?"

The taciturn boy, startled, looked at the Prefect. Higgs said, with a touch of steel in his voice, "Don't fight with other Slytherins in public. I overheard your little display in the Great Hall; even if Weasley's Dad is a blood traitor and the girl _is_ a Mudblood, they're Slytherins. If you have problems with them, keep them in here. Understood? Nott? Granger? Weasley?"

All students nodded, Nott looking a bit ill, Weasley wearing a guarded expression, and Granger warily eyeing both Nott and Higgs before realising, as Draco did, that for now, a truce was declared.

Higgs said, "That's all. Sit down."

The students then swiftly moved to the couches. Draco was flanked by Crabbe and Goyle on the couch opposite the fireplace, while Harry Potter sat next to Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, Blaise taking up the last space on that couch. The other first-years distributed themselves about evenly, and waited for the door to open…

- - - - -

Severus Snape, on his way back to the Slytherin dungeons, reflected on what had happened earlier that night.

Severus's eyes had widened just a fraction when Hermione Granger was Sorted into Slytherin. He cut a quick glance over to Headmaster Dumbledore, who seemed rather unworried at the prospect. Of course, the old Headmaster wouldn't be the one to have to deal with the balancing act now required in discouraging overt displays of pureblood blockheadedness while not seeming to unduly favour the Muggleborn student. He only hoped she had the brains to merit being a true Slytherin and would put some of the more ignorant students in their places without his intervention.

Draco Malfoy had been no surprise – really, the only slight cause for concern was that the Hat took a few moments before Sorting the boy. That could well have been the Hat debating over Ravenclaw versus Slytherin – the boy _did_ have a natural aptitude for learning Potions theory and how to brew potions given only a list of ingredients.

Harry Potter. _Harry blasted bloody Potter_. Of all the people! Slytherin!

Severus had nearly given the game away and given himself whiplash looking over at Dumbledore. As it was, he'd cut a sharp glance over to the aged Headmaster, and noticed the old man's concerned look at that particular Sorting's bizarre result.

He had _tried_. He honestly had _tried_ to be level-headed when the old man had called him into his office the night before. He remembered that discussion.

"_Severus, I have asked you to come here, to warn you that Harry Potter is about to attend Hogwarts."_

_Gritting his teeth, Snape said, "And you have taken up my time calling this meeting, for what reason?"_

_Dumbledore steepled his fingers and looked over his glasses. _

"_You know why, Severus," he said. "You have never made a secret of your dislike for James Potter, and I fear that dislike has not ceased one iota. The boy remembers very little, if at all, of his parents. He resembles his father greatly. You must _not_ allow that to interfere with the duty Lily and I have charged you with. Keep the boy safe."_

_Lily Evans had been smart enough to demand an Unbreakable Vow from Snape, as part of the price to be paid for relaying what he knew of the prophecy to the Dark Lord. She had charged him with the task of keeping her son safe in the event his parents were unable to do so. She had been kind enough – by her standards, anyway – to restrict the Unbreakable Vow to physical harm which could endanger the boy._

_That meant he wouldn't be forced – Merlin forbid – to be a _foster parent_, or some such rot. But he had been willing to just about _anything_ for Lily_...

Severus hadn't acquitted himself well with Dumbledore. He had stood abruptly, saying, "I must leave. Immediately." He'd whirled around, deliberately billowing his robes, and clattered down the stairs and past the gargoyle to go back to his rooms in the dungeons.

And at the Sorting, he had _tried_ to not grit his teeth, but Harry Potter had reawakened all the old memories. How could an eleven-year-old boy who remembered nothing of his parents (if Dumbledore's word was to be taken as valid) yet be so... _infuriating_ at first sight?

After the dinner and conclusion of term speeches, Snape had urgently buttonholed the Headmaster, asking for a brief meeting before going to instruct his Slytherins in the House's ideals. Ideals, which, he ruefully admitted, never actually _said_ a blasted thing about blood purity, but which too many seemed to take for granted, even the half-bloods who should have known better. Ambition – oh, yes. Cunning? Intelligence? In spades.

Although Crabbe and Goyle might yet defy all those categories; the Hat should have put them in Hufflepuff or even Gryffindor, but being Draco's retainers, the Hat had dumped them in Slytherin along with him.

And Lucius sodding Malfoy. Merlin, but that officious twit who had bought his way out of a trial, while Severus had nearly gotten dumped into Azkaban after being roughed up by some Aurors, had sent him a high-handed owl post instructing (_instructing!_) him to keep an eye on Draco and report back regarding the boy's activities. Of all the types Severus hated, it was the ones who dared to _instruct_ him, a Potions Master, that truly raised his ire. His Mastery of Potions certificate, issued in 1979, was one of the few achievements Severus was genuinely proud of, having been awarded in recognition of his exacting, diligent work in developing innovative potions of various kinds.

Severus Snape would be blasted if he would play unthinking lackey to _that_ arsehole.

At least Dumbledore tried not to throw it in his face that he had kept Severus from a fate worse than death (he shuddered as he thought, _Azkaban_), and let the man get on with his work at Hogwarts, intervening only sporadically when disputes between him and non-Slytherin Heads of House threatened to get out of hand – mainly with Sprout and McGonagall. Flitwick the Ravenclaw could argue rings around Snape, and he'd had to concede more than one case of excessive points deductions, although in the main, Ravenclaws were quite rule-abiding and followed directions with due alacrity.

All this had run through Severus's mind as he stood at the gargoyle alongside Dumbledore, waiting for it to leap aside and let the two men enter the Headmaster's office.

The old man took his usual seat, and smiled benignly at Fawkes, who preened and warbled a bit. Severus took a chair opposite, and waited for Dumbledore to pop a sherbet lemon into his mouth.

He said, "It seems I am too fond of these wonderful candies. In any case, I confess to being as surprised as you apparently were about the results of this year's Sortings. Harry Potter – I freely admit I expected him to follow his father into Gryffindor. But, nevertheless, he is in Slytherin. Severus, speak honestly. I will have the boy re-Sorted into Ravenclaw if you have any doubts about your ability to deal with him."

Severus kept his voice level as he said, "Headmaster, if you are intent on giving the boy excess privilege and laxity with respect to the way things are done, you might as well put him into Gryffindor. Heaven forbid one of Minerva's little lions be any less than golden and precious! Is it not a curious thing, Headmaster, that one of Gryffindor's colours is gold, while Slytherin's is silver? Both precious, both valuable, yet gold is treasured far more than silver, is it not?"

His nostrils flared, and he continued.

"But I will make it a... _project_. I will prove to you that Slytherins can be just as golden as your Gryffindors, and if it means I have to put up with the boy, so be it."

Dumbledore solemnly replied, "Severus, I suspect you may find the boy will not trust people easily. I am not at liberty to say how I know, but you may believe with complete certainty that he is fairly self-reliant."

Severus ground his teeth and said, "Fine. Now what about this Granger girl? I _know_ she's a Muggleborn, Headmaster. No pureblood or half-blood family with that surname has been extant in wizarding Britain in generations. If she has any magical ancestry at all, it probably is a Squib somewhere far back before Hogwarts was even founded. Do not expect me, Albus, to become the next defender of Muggleborns everywhere when you know as well as I do how eager some of those blasted dunderheads in my house love scurrying back to their parents to report on everything from whether I pick my rather large nose during class, to what I eat for breakfast in the morning.

"The phrase, 'snake pit' was never more aptly used when referring to Slytherin House; that I will freely concede to those who dislike it. All I can do, Albus, is try to be subtle and stick strictly to Hogwarts rules regarding students who bully others. Can I count on your backing in this matter? I want to make it abundantly clear even to the likes of Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle that it is at your apparent insistence that I punish anyone who harasses Miss Granger."

The old man nodded and said, "I agree, Severus. If you like, I will make a written announcement and have you read it to all of Slytherin House. That will keep most of the criticism away from you. I am used to getting complaints from parents; this will be no exception."

Dumbledore scratched away at some parchment, and then cast a drying charm on it before handing it to Severus.

The Potions professor stood up and said, "I have delayed too long already. I must head down to the dungeons for the first-year orientation. One last thing – I expect Molly Weasley will not be too pleased to find out her son has been placed in my house. I do not look forward to her Howlers, Albus."

The Headmaster just sat back and did that infernal twinkle as he said, "Severus, I am sure your concerns are misplaced. However, I will have Minerva keep an eye on any Gryffindors who harass Mr Weasley due to his House. This year will be fascinating, won't it? My, I've never felt so briskly alive at my age as I do tonight!"

Severus's mouth twisted as he said, "And _I_ shall have to bear the brunt of repercussions of this sudden change in Slytherin. I can only imagine the letters I'll get from pureblood parents insisting I make sure no 'Mudblood contaminate their precious child', or some equally idiotic rot."

"Send them on to me. I shall simply say that I cannot re-Sort someone to suit the whims of others. Incidentally, keep an eye on your Slytherins, Severus. One of them might get the idea that I would overlook use of the Imperius Curse to force Miss Granger to request a re-Sorting."

Severus felt chills go up and down his spine as he realised that scenario could well play itself out if one of the older Slytherins indulged his or her knowledge of Dark Arts. He made a note to keep an eye on the girl, even if he couldn't directly do anything for her.

After all, a Slytherin protects his own, and Severus Snape was not about to let that tradition die out. He strode up to the unmarked stone wall, looked around to ensure no-one else was nearby, and whispered, "Ducat Lex."

* * *

Author Notes:

Hi, all. One of the most pivotal chapters so far has been posted. I freely expect a minor storm to be created with this chapter. Canon, however, does not explicitly forbid the Sorting of muggleborn students into Slytherin; it's just strongly implied that they aren't normally put there. For those of you wondering about Snape's loyalties, this chapter should elucidate that at least at the time of Book 1, he's learned to largely be out for himself. And by Book 6 before Draco's time travel? Well, notice who was with him. Bellatrix Lestrange. She's always been a little jealous of his relative mental acuity and ability to survive more than a cat with nine lives. ;)

I welcome concrit, as always. :-)

fydyan's review brings up a thing I'd like to make clear: The Hat is a sentient being to an extent owing to its extreme age and the magic in the area of Hogwarts. Certainly a Hat that can interact with people (singing, for one thing...) no doubt has a more advanced form of mind-reading than only at touch-telepath range. I assume the existence of this feature to allow the Hat to probe people (although not to as great a degree) from afar, and thus allow it to discuss certain people with Draco and Hermione.

Finally, thanks go to **Kirinin** and **Maddevillechilde** for the excellent beta work and suggestions. Kudos. :)


	10. The First Year Orientation

**Erasing Time's Tracks**  
Chapter 10

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

Draco had been waiting for the wall to slide aside, so he was not surprised, unlike the rest of the first-year students, who had been either chatting in low murmurs or nervously looking around the high-walled, spacious Common Room before the wall's movement caught their attention. For some, it was to be the first night of an extended stay away from home, and that thought seemed a little daunting.

Professor Snape, who was the only person that Draco had seen who appeared almost unchanged, save perhaps for a smidgen more smoothness to his skin as a result of the lack of stress from being an active Death Eater, strode briskly to the fireplace, to take a forbidding position underneath the portrait of Salazar Slytherin.

Draco listened, keeping his Occlumency shields up and remembering not to look Snape directly in the eye. He needn't have worried too much; Snape cast a brief glance over the Slytherin students gathered before him, and his gaze rested upon Harry. It was quick and not too obvious, but Draco noticed it all the same. Snape regarded them all critically, and then spoke, his voice cold and precise.

"First years. If you do not know the Slytherin rules and customs, you will, after my talk tonight. The first thing you must keep in mind at all times is that Slytherins look out for each other. We present a united front to the rest of the school. Any sign of weakness, displayed to the public, creates potential dangers for us which we may not be able to control.

"To this end, any disputes, complaints, arguments or the like _stay in these dungeons_. I am your Head of House, and it is to me you should come if you have questions or concerns, especially if it involves a dispute and you cannot resolve it amongst yourselves. As a last resort, you may go to the Headmaster or Deputy Headmistress, but understand this—"

His sallow face became slightly less masklike and more earnest as he continued.

"The only time you should go outside this House is if the matter you are taking up involves a danger to the school, or anything of that extreme nature. If you have academic problems or other problems of a more individual nature, you come to me or one of the Prefects.

"As to discipline and House points, I make no secret of the fact that I favour this House. You all will have a hard enough time as it is with the rest of Hogwarts without me making it worse. The important thing is, we are all _Slytherins_. We know how to accomplish what we want without being caught doing it, if need be. Do not give me the displeasure of _catching_ you at something.

"However, that does _not_ mean I tolerate insubordination or poor behaviour or breaches of etiquette if you are caught at it. If you disobey one of my instructions, or I am informed of an infraction against Hogwarts rules by another teacher, rest assured I will find things for you to do that will ensure you do not repeat the infraction. My Potions cauldrons have a way of becoming extremely messy, and are best cleaned _without_ the use of magic.

"Unlike many members of other Houses, a good number of you have entered this House with the weight of expectation and tradition. If you should find that you are having difficulties reconciling your school experience with the expectations you face, you may see me. I have attended classes here, and I well understand what it is like, balancing academic pressures with the need to be prepared to enter familial businesses."

So far, the lecture had been mostly the same, with insubstantial changes. Draco knew people like Blaise were sometimes prodded by their parents to continue management of substantial financial holdings, even if their academic interests didn't lie in that direction. Or Pansy – she seemed to like Divination and had wanted to be a Seer, but the Parkinsons would have discouraged that straight away if they found out. They wanted her to marry the likes of the Malfoys and so ally two powerful families.

The differences from last time were about to come.

Snape retrieved a piece of parchment from his pocket, eyed it distastefully, and spoke in a tone that clearly indicated he would rather have left the matter alone.

"The Headmaster had occasion to speak to me before I came here. He insisted it was most urgent, and he has… _requested_... that I elucidate the contents of this parchment. It has to do with the recent Sorting."

At that, all eyes turned to Hermione Granger, who momentarily jerked, startled, then set her jaw and resolutely returned the gazes. Draco thought he heard Pansy hiss, "_Filthy_ Mudblood."

Their Head of House ignored her, and said, "In essence, this is an instruction from the Headmaster that no harm is to befall any student in Slytherin regardless of… blood status. Do _not_ make me have to enforce this. The Slytherin credo, young ladies and gentlemen, is that ambition rules all. If your ambition is to show that Slytherin is a House worthy of consideration on par with the rest of Hogwarts, the last thing we need to do is hand our opponents weapons with which to defeat us. I have resisted the tendencies from without to interfere with the Slytherin credo, the Slytherin way. Do not let my efforts go to waste.

He paused. The short silence was almost menacing, before he broke it with a sharp, "Am I _clear_?"

All the students nodded, but that did not deter some, like Theodore, Pansy and a few other Slytherins from eyeing bushy-haired Granger as though she were a flobberworm.

The hook-nosed man wrapped up the speech, with some minor odds and ends.

"All of you are to go to a medical examination some time during the first week of classes. Your medical records here are strictly confidential, of course, but it is in my interest that you all be healthy, both physically and mentally. You must be at the top of your form to earn Slytherin as many House points as possible, and to ensure that we win at Quidditch. If you have medical problems that may interfere with your ability to assist your fellow Slytherins in gaining House points, you must take steps to ensure the situation is managed properly."

Draco knew that given sufficiently sneaky manoeuvring around Hogwarts, no medical records were _actually_ confidential. He remembered how Nott had come back in second year with a nasty bruise on his cheek. The weedy boy had claimed that it was a careless pratfall after flooing to the Leaky Cauldron (he said he'd struck a chair) in order to get to Muggle London and take the train from Platform nine and three-quarters. Draco had impolitely characterised the excuse as the waste product of hippogriffs and demanded the _real_ explanation: it transpired that Nott had curiously, albeit incautiously, picked up and fiddled with a snake sculpture on his father's desk. The man had been enraged and used a Percussion Hex on the boy, resulting in nasty bruises all over his body.

Snape had made the boy go for his routine medical examination. Apparently coincidentally, just before Christmastime that year the man had left Hogwarts for the day, and then come back. The junior Nott had told Draco that after Snape came back, that his father had grudgingly apologised for "excessively harming him", and had explained that he had been upset because the boy had handled a snake sculpture reported to have once belonged to Salazar Slytherin.

In hindsight – or foresight, depending on what tenses Draco wanted to use, he would bet a hundred Galleons that Snape had put a word in Nott Senior's ear about some medical records under lock and key at Hogwarts and the inadvisability of letting curious eyes see them if Poppy Pomfrey should happen to forget to re-file them after certifying that she'd discharged the patient.

The man had worked behind the scenes like this a few times for other Slytherins, and each time a disappearance for a day occurred, later on a student would always be heard to remark that his parents had laid off on some of their "discipline". Near the end of sixth year, Nott had admitted to Draco that he had guessed that Snape had made his father back off, and he wished that he had taken the chance to thank the man.

Whilst Draco was thinking all this, he happened to notice that bloody rat of Weasley's acting as though it thought Snape was about to attack it. It kept looking at the Potions professor and twitching its nose.

_Stupid animal. Why be worried?_ It wasn't as if the sarcastic teacher gave a damn about who brought what familiar.

With the other loose end tied up, Snape moved onto the matter of curfews and such.

"There is a curfew for all students, with the only exceptions being the Head Boy and Girl as well as Prefects. Any other student found outside their House residence – that is, for Slytherin, outside that wall which forms the entryway to these chambers – may be penalised with detention or the loss of House points, or both. I will make no exceptions for members of Slytherin here; some rules are not negotiable and one of them is ensuring your safety. Students wandering around late at night expose themselves to potentially unsafe situations and that will not be tolerated.

"Finally, your rooms. The dungeons are spacious and as a result, you will find that the first-year dormitories are somewhat larger than they would be in the towers, for example. If there is a problem with your room assignment you may go to the Prefects, or failing that, come see me."

Draco remembered that there were actually more rooms than students, and while it was not obvious to first-years, by second or third year students started to learn that Snape actually kept a rather loose hand on Slytherin when it came to how students organised their internal affairs. Invariably one or two students would decide they disliked the communal arrangements of the standard dormitories for years one through seven, and would slip into small one-bedroom nooks that peppered the dungeons.

He decided to wait and see if Granger would figure out that such refuges existed from communal experiences, especially as pug-faced Pansy seemed to be gearing up for a hexing war.

Their head completed his annual speech by saying, "Are there any questions?"

Surprisingly, or maybe not, Granger's hand shot up. Draco tried to stifle a snicker as he remembered the time he had made fun of her for it in fifth year.

The greasy wizard nodded fractionally and said, "Yes?"

"If we get detentions, who oversees them?"

"It depends, Miss Granger. Usually the professor that assigns a detention will choose who actually oversees it. Now, if there are no further questions, I would like you to begin preparing to go to bed. You will have class schedules issued to you tomorrow at breakfast, so do _not_ fail to attend."

With a baleful glance all around at the lot of students, Snape left, with the characteristic swish of robes. As soon as the wall clattered shut, Higgs spoke up again, saying, "We separate the boys and girls. Boys, go down the hall behind me—"

Here, he pointed to the hallway that faced the exit wall, so that if you walked in a straight line from entering the Common Room, you would head to the first-year dormitory for boys.

He continued, saying, "And girls are to go down _that_ hallway."

He pointed opposite the painting of Slytherin.

"Find your trunk. The bed near your trunk is the one you've been assigned. You can discuss among yourselves if you want to switch around, and don't let me or the other Prefect, who is Fiona Davis, hear any arguing or fighting. If we hear it, we'll assign beds ourselves, and you may not like the way we handle it.

Higgs heaved a sigh, and said, "I don't want to have to say this, but Professor Snape _did_ say the Headmaster brought it up. If you have any disputes with Granger, _leave them here_. I don't want to have to be the one to tell Professor Snape that the Headmaster will need to be informed because a fight broke out between two Slytherins in the hallways of Hogwarts."

Draco saw wary looks exchanged all around as students assessed whether Hermione Granger was a threat, a problem, an asset, or just someone to be ignored and overlooked. He guessed that Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott would probably lead most of the hexing and abuse, and some of the older Slytherins would probably join in. He would just use the excuse of his friendship with Harry Potter to stay out of the battles, and if Weasley used any strategic thinking at all, he would figure out how to help defend the Granger girl.

But Merlin help him if she beat him out for grades _again_. He did not need his father going half-barmy because a Mudblood in _Slytherin_ edged him out for grades. It had been bad enough hearing his cutting remarks because a _Gryffindor_ had beaten him out. Luckily, he had an unfair advantage.

The students by now were milling around, deciding whether they wanted to renew acquaintanceships or head off to the dorm rooms. The pale blond spotted Harry standing near the Weasel... well, _Ronald Weasley,_ and Gr–_Hermione_, and he went over to say hello – very briefly – and plucked the bespectacled boy's sleeve, saying, "Come on. We've got to go."

The former stared, uncomprehending, and then realised what Draco was up in arms about and resignedly said, "All right, I'll come."

The raven-haired boy turned to the witch and the redhead and said, "I'll be fine, guys. Go on to bed; I'll see you tomorrow, Hermione, and I'll see you in the dorms later, Ron."

The pair nodded a bit uncertainly, and Draco dismissed their worries from his mind as he lightly held Harry's sleeve all the way to Snape's office. The door was slightly ajar, and Draco knocked twice, hearing the familiar echo of the sound through the walls.

The Potions Master gave out a huffy sigh, but wordlessly escorted both boys inside. Draco was unperturbed by the shelves upon shelves of strange ingredients and animal specimens, whilst Harry was rather surprised, and showed it. However, he showed that he _had_ taken the advice that Draco had given him when they were on the Hogwarts Express well in hand. As guided, Harry looked at their Head of House as soon as the man began talking.

"To what do I owe the pleasure – or not – of this little gathering?"

Draco spoke first, seizing the initiative.

"It's Potter, sir. He says his scar hurt at dinner tonight."

A dark eyebrow lifted, and Snape said to the other boy, "Is this so?"

Softly, the boy in question replied, "Yes, sir. It…well… it was just a twinge, really, but it happened when I looked at the High Table. I'm just not sure why it would happen."

The teacher looked to be thinking.

"I shall ensure the Headmaster knows of this. Is there anything else?"

Both boys said, in unison, "No, sir," and then looked at each other in surprise.

They immediately looked back at Snape, who said, "Very well, then. The both of you, be off to your dormitories and go to bed. I remind both of you that disobedience of the rules will mean swift consequences. Am I clear, Mr Potter?"

The bespectacled boy looked at the older wizard, saying, "Yes, sir."

"Mr Malfoy?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now go."

The boys left the chilly office with alacrity, and headed back to their warm beds. Draco thanked the fates that the two had managed civility with each other on the first meeting.

- - -

Draco did not hear about Hermione's misadventure in the female dormitories until the next day, but he _did_ know that Harry Potter had had an easier time of it, as Crabbe and Goyle were all-too-happy to see that they had beds next to each other and Draco, while Harry was on the other side of Draco. Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini got beds at the far end, near the bathroom, while Weasley had got the one between Harry and the door.

The dormitory itself, like the all the others, was laid out in a rectangle, with all the beds along one wall and the trunks at the foot of each bed. Each bed was separated by about ten feet on each side, with wardrobes next to the beds for robes, hats and the like. There was a spacious walkway along one of the long walls that would let two seventh-years walk side by side and still allow enough room for a first-year to squeeze past. There would be little trouble with students colliding on the way to the bathroom or out the door to the Common Room.

The only sign of trouble was when Theo looked poisonously at Weasley and muttered, "Blood traitor." The black boy, Blaise, had just looked unconcernedly around, and hopped straight into bed, pulling the drapes about the bed to enclose himself.

Draco remembered that Harry would have no idea about silencing (the kind that could selectively allow or disallow sound, depending on volume) and protection charms, and quickly whispered some instructions in his ear. Gratefully, the boy acknowledged them, and then changed into his pyjamas, and finally cast the spells before he pulled the drapes to. Shyly, he waved good-night to the blond, who smiled and said, "See you tomorrow, eh, Harry?"

At that, Harry pulled the drapes fully closed, and Draco cast his own silencing and protection charms. He had been able to do them non-verbally, having practiced this when he was at home. After the drapes were closed, creating a comforting interior, Draco quietly cast a permanent perimeter-detection ward around his bed. It was designed so that anyone with malicious intentions who attempted to get within two feet of his bed would be suddenly Confunded, and he would be alerted. He made sure to allow house-elves free reign to clean the bed and its sheets, but resolved to make sure none of the elves could be tricked into doing something nasty to his bed.

- - -

The next day, Draco was up bright and early, thanking whatever Deities existed that he had not had a nightmare the first day back at Hogwarts. As he showered and dressed, he thought about what had happened so far, and felt relieved to be once again living in a comparatively simpler time, when the world wasn't yet at war and his loyalties weren't constantly subject to questioning, probing and prodding. Hogwarts had never felt so welcoming and safe as it did that day as he waited for his famous friend to finish his morning ablutions.

The surprise of seeing Harry in those bloody awful clothes galvanised Draco into action. This was _intolerable_. He grabbed the former's arm and pulled him over to the wardrobe next to his bunk, saying "Harry, those clothes – look, I mean no offence, all right, but… they're _ghastly_. Sure, you'll be wearing a robe, and that'll cover your clothes, but _Merlin_, Harry!"

Abashed, the other stared at the floor as the young aristocrat wondered how to break it to the boy that the Boy-Who-Lived just could_ not_ wear those sodding oversized clothes. He was surprised nobody had dared comment on it last night, but he guessed the boys had all been so busy getting ready for bed that it had sort of gone by unnoticed.

As he was unable to think of a decent way to put it, he just grabbed black trousers and a white silk shirt and shoved them at the boy, saying, "Go change into these, all right? I'll help you transfigure or get rid of those awful things you're wearing, after classes have finished for the day."

Harry simply stood there, before looking up from the floor and at Draco. He spoke, his voice tinged with suspicion.

"Why? Nobody's ever done something this nice for me before. What do you want from me, Draco?"

Draco thought it a good thing that they were still in the silencing perimeter of the spell that he had cast, because the four-letter word he used would have woken the other boys up. He got ahold of himself and forced a sense of calm and reason to the fore as he said, "Look, Harry—you're a _Slytherin_. This isn't a matter about being _nice_, it's about being a _Slytherin_, and Snape said we've got to at least look out for each other. You can't go around wearing those old rags; that's ridiculous. Come on, just borrow mine. You can order new clothes from Madam Malkin's, or some other shop, by owl order later."

Harry blinked, and said, "Well, all right. Thanks." He grinned at Draco before slipping into the bathroom. When he emerged, Draco couldn't help but try to suppress a satisfied smile. At least Harry looked a great deal more presentable now than he had with those terrible clothes, which had now been relegated to the boy's wardrobe. Maybe he could even persuade Harry to do something about his messy hair—introduce him to brushes and gel, perhaps.

Then Draco realised that he was hungry. Very much so. He motioned to the door. "Let's get down to breakfast, Harry, and get something to eat."

The other boy nodded, and the pair left the dorms to go to the Great Hall.

* * *

Author Notes:

Thanks go to **Maddevillechilde** and **Talriga **for the beta work and suggestions. You've been very helpful. :-)

Draco's friendship with Harry -will- have spin-off effects for Ron and Hermione, as the spells he gives Harry will percolate to the other two of the Golden (or is that Silver:-P ) Trio. Ultimately we'll see some Slytherins get put in their place, and I want to reassure you all there will be no Ron bashing or Hermione bashing. :) Our dear Ronald has already had the stakes anted up for him compared to canon, and his brain's working overtime to figure out what to do.

Hopefully I can handle Draco's dicey situation properly, since he needs the Trio to bear the brunt of the vanguard of the "winds of change". Once it becomes more-or-less clear that they're not to be messed with, Draco can be a bit more open with his friendship with the other two and justify it to his father on the grounds of expediency. We hope.

I haven't decided how dogmatic versus pragmatic to make Lucius Malfoy. There are canon elements that support both views. The man clearly loves backing the winning horse, even if he has to make a show of being nice when he'd rather sneer and use the PimpCane to whack people with. At the same time he's been pretty well implacable on the whole blood purity thing, considering how he rakes Draco over the coals for it.


	11. First Day of Classes

**Erasing Time's Tracks**  
Chapter 11

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

Hermione Granger had been prepared – she thought – for what was ahead when she accepted Slytherin, yet to be singled out three times in the first night at Hogwarts was really too _much_.

She guessed – quite correctly – that Dumbledore's and Higgs's well-intentioned interventions might, in the long run, make things worse. She noticed how the prefect had tried to justify his statements based on what were apparently pragmatic notions of Slytherin behaviour; that is, he might not have much cared for the blood purity issue, but he could not afford to _say_ so.

She had not missed the poisonous glances from that stringy boy – Nott? – who had rudely insulted her at the dinner table, or those from the pug-faced girl – Pansy, she believed the name was. She attempted to calm down by mentally cataloguing all the spells that she had come across in her Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook, which were in truth few, but at least she could defend herself, she supposed, if anyone attacking her was not overly far ahead in terms of ability.

Unfortunately, her first taste of the seamy side of Slytherin was to be had that night. Ronald Weasley had nervously asked her if she would be all right, and she'd said not to worry. He didn't seem to have wholly believed her, but they'd said goodnight to each other and parted. Around then, she noticed most other students also heading off to bed.

As Hermione warily eyed the girls' dorm, she noted that her trunk was set by the bed nearest the door. Unfortunately, Pansy decided she wanted that bed, and the disdain the pug-faced girl showed was clearly evident as she sneered at Hermione.

"Get your trunk away from that bed, you Mudblood," she said haughtily. "I'll teach you to respect your superiors."

Knowing anything she was going to say would be of no help, she decided she _had_ to make some kind of stand anyway. Therefore, Hermione retorted, "And what's it to you? I've never known you before today, and all these beds are exactly the same. You could have just asked nicely to switch beds, you know."

The two other girls, whom she recalled were Greengrass and Davis, seemed to be unconcerned with what was going on, but a particularly heavy-set girl, who Hermione believed was named Bulstrode, barked, "Stop arguing with her, Granger, and just move your bloody trunk! You're not going to help yourself."

Hermione was incensed, and was about to respond when she saw, unbelievably, that Pansy had whipped her wand out. Before she could react, she heard the girl cry, "_Tarantellegra!_"

The hex hit Hermione, and she wobbled about, trying to regain some dignity as the humiliating Jelly-Legs jinx caused her to trip and fall to the floor, her legs still twitching. Exasperated, the big girl snapped out the counter curse, yanked the poor recipient up off of the floor by her robes, and unceremoniously dragged Hermione's trunk over to the unused bed by the bathroom door.

The girl, Bulstrode, turned to her friend, snapping out the words as she spoke. "Parkinson, would you just get to bed already? I'm tired and you two duelling isn't going to let me get to sleep any faster. That's why I put a stop to this. You think I want a bloody prefect coming in here?"

Pansy just sneered again, and moved her trunk up next to the bed she had 'appropriated' from Hermione, as the hag-like girl eyed Hermione and said in a low voice, "Look, I did you a favour helping you with cancelling that jinx and moving your trunk. It's not like I _have_ to do anything for you, you know. You're a Mudblood. I just don't want to be here watching an argument when I can be sleeping, so now you owe _me_ a favour for getting Parkinson off your back. Now get on to bed. And don't think I won't hex you myself if you let this get around."

Hermione swallowed and nodded uncertainly. She quietly got ready for bed, all the while watching Parkinson and Bulstrode carefully out of the corner of her eye. She resolved then and there to learn as much about magic as she could—and Pansy Parkinson would soon regret that she had ever tangled with Hermione Granger.

The next morning, when Hermione woke up, she noted that the rest of the girls were still asleep; she therefore decided that discretion was the better part of valour as she tended to her morning ablutions as swiftly as possible. Once finished, she headed to the Great Hall for breakfast. Just as she left the room, she saw – or thought she saw – Millicent Bulstrode moving towards the bathroom.

At the Slytherin table, the first years were congregated at the end near the High Table; Hermione took a seat nearest where Professor Snape usually sat. Some fried eggs and toast appeared before her, along with a glass of that strange liquid, called pumpkin juice.

As she began eating, she noticed that the Prefect, Higgs, seemed to be regarding her a bit sympathetically, whereas the other older Slytherins paid her no attention. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle appeared to be engaged in an impromptu contest to see who could consume the largest breakfast plate, and grunted at her as she ate her (quite modest, by their standards) breakfast.

About halfway through Hermione's solitary breakfast, a familiar redhead slid into the seat next to her. "Morning, Hermione," Ron said. "Did you…sleep all right?"

Under her breath, Hermione said, "It was all right, Ronald, but Pansy Parkinson insulted me last night and forced me to move to a different bed." At the look of outrage on his freckled face, she hissed, "Don't make an issue of it! Even if you never read _Hogwarts: A History_, you should know as well as I do what a fair number of Slytherins tend to think about Muggleborns! Even Draco warned us, you know."

The boy did not appear to want to be terribly rational about the situation, but acquiesced, remembering that Slytherins had to at least pretend all was well when in public. So he remained next to Hermione, fuming a bit as he waited for his own pumpkin juice and breakfast. As the two began eating, she noticed Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy entering the Great Hall, sitting next to Crabbe and Goyle. The blond's voice carried well as he said, "Oi, Vince, Greg, you two finished yet?"

More grunts from the gustatory duelling duo were the response he got.

Draco rolled his eyes; however, Hermione got the impression that he had not meant for anyone to see his apparent exasperation with the pair. He turned to Harry and plucked the boy's sleeve slightly to get his attention. The two began conversing in tones too low for Hermione to easily hear, but she _did_ notice that the latter had a habit of hesitantly eating, as though he expected someone to tell him he couldn't eat more.

Ronald was bolting his food as though he expected anyone else to snag a piece off his plate, and she resolved to improve his manners. She said, "By the way, Ronald, what electives do you think you'll take in your third year?"

The poor boy's look of astonishment at Hermione's attempt to map out all seven years of her schooling in one go would have been worth framing in a picture.

**- - - - -  
**

Draco Malfoy noticed Granger sitting at the far end of the Slytherin table, with Weasley next to her. He really was not all that upset by Vince and Greg's non-communicative nature when eating, and had rolled his eyes in good-natured exasperation as he sat down. He reminded himself, however, that it would not do for a Malfoy to be too gauchely familiar with his minions.

Harry had sat next to him, and the blond plucked at the bespectacled boy's sleeve, only half registering that he seemed to have started that habit of his to get the other boy's attention. They began discussing in low voices what sort of classes one took at Hogwarts, while Draco noted that his retiring fellow had a tendency to hesitate a bit after eating a few bites. This reinforced his suspicions and made him say, "By the way, Harry – remember that examination by Madam Pomfrey, okay?"

The black-haired boy nodded a bit guardedly, and was about to reply when Snape swooped down on the Slytherin table, startling some of the first-year students, who had trickled in by dribs and drabs over the course of the morning. The man handed out schedules to them all, and said, "Be punctual to all of your classes. That is my only warning."

The man then assumed his normal spot at the High Table and balefully grimaced at the Gryffindors, particularly the two boisterous twin redheads. Draco smirked to himself as he remembered their multitude of pranks, and wondered if he could use his connection to Weasley to get an "in" with them. They had practically worshipped the ground Potter walked on after fourth year, although Draco had no idea why.

It was as the blond finished his breakfast, with Harry a few seconds behind, Lucius's pet owl, Mabon, swept into the Great Hall along with the other post owls. Hedwig swooped in as well, hooting amiably at Draco before preening in front of her owner, who grinned and ran his fingers through her feathers before feeding her a bit of toast.

The package Mabon bore read "To Draco, from your Mum," and contained some high-quality sweets that Narcissa knew Draco liked. His mouth watered at the thought of a chocolate snack, but he promised himself that he would save them for later.

Well, _most_ of them.

The real entertainment of the day, however, came when the Howler, borne by an ancient owl, bonked Weasley on the head and began puffing before the boy frantically tore it open, while the ancient owl nearly caromed off the far wall and landed, panting and wheezing, on the long table.

"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY! HOW ON EARTH DID YOU GET SORTED INTO SLYTHERIN?! I HAD TO HEAR IT FROM PERCY, AS THOUGH YOUR OWN MOTHER WEREN'T GOOD ENOUGH TO WRITE THE INSTANT YOU GOT SORTED! IF YOU PUT ONE TOE OUT OF LINE OR IF I HEAR ABOUT YOU LEARNING ANY DARK ARTS, SO HELP ME MERLIN, ARTHUR AND I WILL HAVE YOU HOME IN TWO SHAKES OF A KNEAZLE'S TAIL!"

The older Slytherins were snickering and not trying to hide it very well, while the first-years looked on in awe or surprise, as they saw Ron's freckled face turn pale at the threat, before oddly, the Howler zoomed over to the Gryffindor table.

"AND DON'T THINK I'VE FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOU, FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY! I SAW THAT WATER BUCKET YOU CHARMED TO FALL ON POOR GINNY'S HEAD IF SHE WOKE UP BEFORE NINE O'CLOCK AND I MANAGED TO DESTROY IT BEFORE IT SPLASHED ALL THAT WATER ON HER! ONE MORE LIKE THAT AT CHRISTMAS AND I'LL HAVE YOU DE-GNOMING THE GARDEN WITHOUT ANY WARMING CHARMS!"

The Howler exploded brilliantly, and the three Weasleys affected by said Howler regarded each other in a kind of resignation and alliance. The Slytherins were openly guffawing at the Gryffindors for the most part, and even Draco felt hard-pressed to resist openly snickering.

Harry, in awe, said, "What _was_ that?"

Draco replied, "A Howler. Trust me, you _don't_ want to get one."

Harry nodded, then looked at Ron and smiled slightly as the boy looked around for any kind of moral support after that episode of Mrs Weasley's formidable lung-power.

Draco wondered if maybe Molly Weasley would ever know she inadvertently paved the way for a … _unique_ Gryffindor-Slytherin alliance, though he didn't doubt that Ron Weasley would still be the butt of pranks every now and then.

**- - -**

The first day of classes was pretty mundane as classes went; the Slytherin first-years had no choice about which classes to take, so they trooped around as one from room to room as the bell rang. In the morning they had Herbology with the Ravenclaws, and Hermione rapidly proved to be her usual overenthusiastic points-obtaining self as she hauled down fifteen points for Slytherin in rapid succession for knowing about the three different plants that Sprout had them sketching in their books; after that, they got essays assigned about researching their properties. The tour of the greenhouses was boring, but not for the reasons Draco had had before. He had never had a high opinion of Herbology in the first place, but now things were mostly just a "re-do". It was not fun to think he would essentially have to write all the essays, tests and examinations twice.

_Ugh_.

History of Magic with the Gryffindors was as somnolent as always, with Binns droning on about how this Goblin Rebellion was the key beginning of the formation of Gringotts and the beginning of a shaky alliance… Harry's and Weasley's heads had drooped to the table somewhere around the time Fiststrap the Goblin had slain some unsuspecting wizard who had offended against some Goblin customs. Even Granger seemed to be valiantly struggling as she took notes. She apparently gave up trying to wake up Weasley when the boy's head _thunked_ on the table for the fourth time in five minutes.

The other Slytherins openly showed a complete lack of interest in the subject, having been informed of Binns by their parents, older siblings or family friends (there was one advantage to all the purebloods knowing each other, thought Draco).

Draco himself had long since quit bothering to listen as he noticed even the tatty rat that the redhead owned had fallen asleep. Why did that damn animal keep nagging at the back of his head? Other thoughts percolated their way through his head about which 'extracirricular' spells he ought to teach Harry first off. The warding and silencing charms were part and parcel of many a Slytherin's Hogwarts experience, but the real value was in learning hexes and jinxes to defend oneself. The boy's whip-crack reflexes could only enhance his ability with them.

The bell rang, mercifully ending the soporific droning, and the Slytherins, groggy and puffy-eyed, staggered off to lunch. The blond decided the hell with it and asked for two good strong cups of tea for himself and Harry, who gratefully accepted a cup and drank greedily from it. He seemed more awake after, and said regretfully, "I wish History of Magic was actually interesting. I bet there'd be so much to learn."

Draco nodded. "I've heard all Binns does is go on about Goblin Rebellions. You'd think we'd learn something about the fact that there were so many, or even just learn about wizards and witches. Why, Merlin himself—"

Harry stared at him wide-eyed. "He's a real _person_?"

Draco snorted and said sardonically, "Of _course_ he's real, Harry. We don't say 'Oh, Merlin', for nothing, you know."

A bit abashed, the latter said, "Nobody ever told me."

Shrugging, the other boy told him, "That's what I'm here for. Come, let's get some sandwiches and then we'll be off to Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws, then Charms with the Hufflepuffs."

Minerva McGonagall was every bit as strict and terrifying as she had been for several years, and Draco permitted himself only the ghost of a smile as he looked sideways at Granger, who was apparently acquiring a case of heroine-worship of McGonagall. The two women _did_ have oddly similar tendencies to be stern and merciless when it came to insisting on work being done properly and with alacrity; he'd heard her shrill voice nagging Weasley often enough before.

The desk-into-a-pig-and-back-again stunt was still impressive, especially considering that he, Draco, had only just started that kind of transfiguring work in sixth year, whereas the work the old teacher set, which was turning a matchstick into a needle, was familiar ground. He was cautious to procrastinate at first, and then midway through, he "got" it, and tugged Harry's shoulder briefly; he whispered to his friend, "Try concentrating on the vision of it as _being_ a needle when you do the spell."

Harry seemed to have better luck after that, and managed to partly turn his matchstick into a needle. Granger, of course, got the transfiguration done by the end of class, and Draco and Hermione each pulled down five more points for Slytherin.

He smirked inwardly as he heard the pure-blooded Slytherins beginning to mumble about a 'Mudblood showing us all up.' They would never know that Draco had had a hand (however murky it might have actually been) in getting Slytherin House's biggest secret weapon for the next seven years – the veritable points machine Hermione Granger.

The last class was Charms, and Flitwick took the entire class to cover the basic theory of Charms and how they differed from other spells such as Defence-related hexes and jinxes, or Transfiguration of objects. Draco expected no less from a Ravenclaw, and was not disappointed by the time the final bell rang. The first-years began to scatter off, and some started to write letters to their parents and post them that night.

Others did so later that night, or the next day, after having some encounters in the Slytherin Common Room, or in the hallways of Hogwarts.

**- - - - -  
**

Dear Father and Mother,

I have been Sorted into Slytherin, as expected. Harry Potter has been Sorted into Slytherin, as well! We have become friends, I think; at least, we have had a few words and he seems content to let me take him under my wing. I shall introduce him to the rest of Slytherin and show him how to put his best foot forward in our house. I am taking your advice to heart and ensuring that the Malfoy name will be associated prominently with the Boy-Who-Lived.

Some surprises happened, as well. You may remember Arthur Weasley in the Ministry – one of his sons has _also_ been Sorted into Slytherin. I was surprised, to say the least, that the son of a blood traitor would enter our House. There may be some hope, Father, for the Weasleys if I can befriend his son. What do you suggest?

Finally, the largest surprise of all – we have a Mudblood in Slytherin! Her name is Hermione Granger, and I am quite sure there have been no Grangers in wizarding families for the last several hundred years, if not longer. I am not sure what the Sorting Hat was thinking, but in any case, Pansy Parkinson will handle her appropriately, I am sure.

Mother, things are going well here at Hogwarts, and thank you for the chocolates. I think I will have a good time of it here.

Your son,  
Draco.

**oOoOo**

Dear Father,

You will never believe this, but that blood traitor Weasley has a son who has made it into Slytherin! Of all the disgraces to our House, I cannot imagine a worse one; even the Mudblood in Slytherin is not as bad as that Weasel. At least she will know to keep her mouth shut and her head down if she wants to make it out of Hogwarts alive.

Unfortunately, Father, I have forgotten my special Dictating Quill. Could you please ask Mother to send it by the next owl post? It will help me a lot when I do my homework assignments.

Your son,  
Theodore.

**oOoOo**

Dear Mother and Father,

I have to share a dormitory room with a Mudblood, of all people! A _Mudblood_! I have been Sorted into Slytherin, and that stupid Hat made some mistake and Sorted a girl named Grunger, or Glanger, or something, into our House. I am _appalled_ at the carelessness with which Dumbledore seems to treat our House's ideals.

Professor Snape refuses to be of any help; Dumbledore wrote an order to make sure the girl stays in Slytherin. What that old coot thinks he is doing, I have no idea!

Your daughter,  
Pansy.

**oOoOo**

Dear Mum and Dad,

First of all, please don't be alarmed about the owl. Her name's Hedwig and she's such a nice, intelligent and beautiful owl! My friend, Harry Potter, let me use her to send you this letter. He assured me she would know to be discreet when she arrived at home.

Professor McGonagall said during the orientation that coming to Hogwarts would be the best way to control my accidental magic. You may remember the time I somehow shattered the kitchen window when I got angry thinking about that childish bully Warren Ringelbaum at our primary school. However, I admit to being a bit uncertain, as this is the first time I will have an extended stay away from home. I would let you know if I feel unsafe to the point of needing to leave Hogwarts.

Unfortunately, there are some prejudiced people that believe Muggleborns (like me) shouldn't be brought to Hogwarts. This means that those prejudiced people sometimes call me "Mudblood", which is about the foulest thing you can call someone. It would be like calling a black person one of those rude words which I won't write here.

However, things have been kept under control. Headmaster Dumbledore is known to be sympathetic to those who believe the so-called blood distinctions are meaningless, and he makes sure incidents like this do not get out of hand.

One of my friends, Ronald Weasley, has been quite supportive and refuses to back down when anyone starts in on me. Harry Potter, another friend, has similarly stared down some people once or twice. I don't understand it fully, but his eyes seem to radiate this intensity on occasion when he registers displeasure. I suspect it is part of the "Boy-Who-Lived" mystique that surrounds him. He will be fascinating to watch as time goes on, I think.

Please give Hedwig a small bit of toast or bacon before she leaves. I think she deserves it for taking such a long trip!

Your loving daughter,  
Hermione.

**oOoOo**

Dear Mum and Dad,

It's still hard to believe I'm in bloody Slytherin! Sorry about the language, and not writing you before, Mum, but I really didn't expect this and I kind of forgot.

Besides me, there's Harry Potter, and a muggleborn named Hermione Granger (I had to ask her how to spell that name). It looks like we three are pretty much on our own here.

Can you ask Ginny how she does that Bat-Bogey Hex, and to write to me so I can learn it and get them all back good! I won't be sorry when they stop calling me a "blood traitor".

Tell Fred and George they can stop pranking me, too! If I have to deal with another set of pink robes it won't be too soon.

Your son,  
Ron.

* * *

Author Note:

Hey, all. :-)

First off, thanks go to **Maddevillechilde**, **Talriga** and **Kirinin** for their excellent beta work. :)

Second, I've managed to get back into the groove of updating this fic, and with any luck I'll be a bit more regular about it. As always I welcome any con-crit regarding weaknesses, omissions, or just plain mistakes. :) I plan to explore the Harry-Hermione and Ron-Hermione dynamic a little more in the following chapters, particularly as relates Harry's reaction to Hermione being bullied. As we know, Harry's quite sensitive to others being bullied, thanks to Cousin Duddy Dinkydums.

fydyan's review made a good point, and after discussing it with my betas as well as reviewing canonical instances of how close (or not) Hermione is to her family, I think she would selectively mention things to her parents. I have therefore revised her letter home; it does cut out what could be a good subplot regarding her parents, but canon has shown that even Gryffindor!Hermione doesn't seem to be that forthcoming to her parents.

Further, she has a tendency to believe in authority, but has shown an interesting tendency to justify to herself reasons for why she would omit information. Her letter is classically Slytherin - dribble out just enough information to reassure the other party, and keep the rest for later.


	12. The Pieces are Set

**Erasing Time's Tracks**  
Chapter 12

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

Harry Potter went with Draco to Madam Pomfrey's Hospital Wing in between the last normal class of the day and Astronomy at night. He'd been grudgingly willing to go, after Draco promised he'd be with Harry during the examination, as the blond needed to get one done, too. The Dursleys had never bothered to take him to a doctor before, not even the time (he distantly recalled) that he'd fallen on the hard pavement after Dudley shoved him. His arm had hurt terribly and he couldn't seem to move it properly. Of course he was chucked into the cupboard under the stairs for _that_. That afternoon and night, slowly, his arm had somehow put itself right; seeing his arm straighten itself out and become whole again was a miracle he'd treasured for a long time afterwards.

He'd never told Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon about _that_; they'd just been pleased that the little pest wouldn't force them to spend time actually conning the NHS into paying for him. He only knew from the telly what medical examinations ought to be like – with prodding and poking and generally, if the patient didn't want something found out, the doctor found out anyway. Being medically examined was an entirely new experience for Harry, and he wasn't sure if he liked the idea of someone being able to look at him and find out anything about him that they pleased.

Madam Pomfrey had finished diagnosing Blaise Zabini, who nodded coolly at them both before leaving. He noticed that the mediwitch didn't say anything to the child; she just waved her wand about and caused words to appear on a sheaf of that parchment stuff, which then went into a magical file folder.

Harry wondered just what she could find out with that wand of hers – would it tell her about the times Dudley and his friends had beaten him in their 'Harry Hunting' games? With some trepidation, he nerved himself for the examination.

Draco gently pushed Harry forward, saying, "You go first, so you can get it out of the way. All right?"

Harry nodded, thankful Draco was accompanying him, and went near the matron, and got a good look at her. She was stern-looking woman in approximate middle age, in a white uniform that wouldn't have looked out of place in the 1940s. As he regarded her, she was extracting a blank magical file folder, and charming it to receive a parchment. Once that was done, she looked down at him, smiled briefly, and said, "What's your full name, child? I take it you're another of Severus's Slytherins?"

Softly, he said, "…Yeah. My name's Harry James Potter."

Madam Pomfrey then tapped her wand to a blank sheaf of parchment, and said, "Now, I understand you haven't had a lot of experience with magic, so don't be afraid when I point my wand at you. All right?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. Now could I get you to sit on this hospital bed, here?"

Harry gingerly got onto the hospital bed and nervously awaited the examination.

Madam Pomfrey pointed her wand, and muttered a spell Harry didn't quite catch. He felt a slight warmth flood over him as a yellow light briefly enveloped him. The warmth and the light vanished at the same time, and the mediwitch then tapped her wand on the parchment again, which rapidly became covered in black ink.

Harry, with the experience of learning to read the slight signs of body language people used, noticed that Madam Pomfrey's cursory glance at the parchment was followed with a frown, and her eyes began roving over the document more thoroughly.

Harry thought, _That does it! Now what'll happen? Who will she tell? Draco's Dad is on the Board of Governors, he said… what if his Dad tells Draco? Or the Headmaster?_

With a sinking feeling, he wondered how "confidential" these records really could be if powerful Headmasters and Governors had to run the school properly.

Morosely, he jumped off the bed and curtly nodded to Draco, who underwent his own examination. Harry's suspicions were confirmed when Pomfrey smiled benignly after eyeing Draco's parchment.

Fuming slightly, he responded in one-word monotone phrases as Draco attempted to blabber in his ear about the report in the Daily Prophet regarding the latest loss of the Chudley Cannons to Puddlemere United.

**- - - - -****  
**

Draco Malfoy prided himself on being a rather good observer of all things Potter, and so after a few minutes of Harry's sudden recalcitrance, he deduced (quite correctly) that the latter had spotted Madam Pomfrey's body language when she'd discovered evidence of some kind of abuse. What he could do about it now, to draw Harry out of his shell, he didn't know.

Draco remembered how evasive Theodore Nott had been after that Percussion Hex incident, and he again recalled the rather strange tendency of abused children to enter Slytherin House. Their talent for dissembling and concealment fitted in well with the tendency of Slytherins to offer up information only if it could be traded for something else. Then again, it also could be because pureblood culture was (the blond grudgingly admitted to himself) in a state of near-stasis when it came to tradition and expectations regarding proper behaviour, and such methods of discipline had been handed down from generation to generation.

In the old timeline, his father had once obliquely hinted that he might employ such methods on Draco after his fourth year. He remembered the time he'd interrupted his father in the library when the man was talking to Patroclus Nott in low, guarded voices. Draco had forgotten that his father forbade him to interrupt that night, and the look of thin-lipped anger on his father's face sent Draco back-pedalling out of the library in record time.

Later that night, his father had referred briefly to the library incident and said, "Draco, understand this: if you fail to obey in the future I may have to consider certain methods of punishment which will leave you in no way uncertain as to what I expect of you. You are, I am sure, intelligent enough to consider what punishments I might find adequate."

Draco had kept himself absolutely rigid, nodding briefly and casting his eyes to the floor as he waited quietly, like a rabbit would in the area of a fox, for his father to leave.

His father didn't threaten him again – once was enough, for Draco remembered the time his father blasted a house-elf with a Gangrene Hex, and tossed it out onto the grass of the Manor lands to fend for itself, all because the little creature had incorrectly sewn one of Lucius's garments the night he was due to attend a major social gathering to solicit donations for St. Mungo's.

- - - - -**  
**

Severus Snape was enjoying a quiet evening in his quarters, as the cycle of marking assignments and essays was not yet in full swing. He was interrupted by a Floo call from Poppy Pomfrey. It seemed the last of the Slytherin first-years had gotten their medical examinations and she was ready to discuss their respective conditions.

They agreed to meet briefly in the Hospital Wing, as Severus was scheduled to patrol the corridors that night.

In the matron's office, Severus took some tea, and sipped at it as she took the students from best to worst, as she'd done for several years prior.

"Well, first off, Severus, that Muggleborn you have, Hermione Granger, was hit with a Jelly-Legs Jinx a day or so ago. There's minor bruising consistent with the hex. You had better get those pure-blood blockheads of yours under control or that House will be in full-scale riot. I know for a fact not every one of your Slytherins is a pureblood fanatic, and some of the more sensible ones might quail at the thought of a Muggleborn being openly bullied."

Irritated, he replied, "Yes, Poppy. I _will_ handle the little brats."

"But I'm getting off track. Miss Granger's health is otherwise superb. She's had an excellent upbringing, by Muggle standards. I spoke with her briefly, and she said her parents are denteeths... no, _dentists_. As such they take an interest in oral as well as overall health, and it shows. She's a very healthy young lady, indeed, and will remain so if she can run the gauntlet in your House, Severus. And speaking of gauntlets, what about yours?"

"It isn't as bad as you'd make it out to be, Poppy. Even the likes of Crabbe and Goyle Seniors aren't going to suddenly denounce me if I have to help Miss Granger in the course of my duties. What are they going to do? Complain to the Headmaster? He already covered that with his written instructions."

Poppy smiled briefly and said, "Very well, then, you know best. Now, Draco Malfoy is also the picture of health; nothing is wrong with him other than the usual childhood pratfalls. I take it he flew a broom at his residence?"

Severus nodded. "I had occasion to visit Lucius and also to tutor Draco in Potions. The boy is a naturally good flier, but even so he had some accidents. Nothing too serious, although I'm sure he got to enjoy Narcissa fussing over him to no end."

"Hmm…" she looked thoughtful, but quickly changed the subject. "Blaise Zabini is also all right. He seems a bit withdrawn, but I suspect it is because his mother changes stepfathers a bit too swiftly for his liking."

"Blast it, let's not pussyfoot around this issue. We both know Mrs Zabini has a habit of fishing for Galleons when she gets married, and any idiot can go into Knockturn Alley and acquire a number of common poisons. Even without that, there _are_ other Masters of Potions besides myself, and they'll brew anything; obviously, if she used me, the Ministry would start paying too much attention."

Pomfrey rattled on about the rest of the first-year Slytherins, remarking that none seemed to have any untoward conditions or injuries.

"Ah, let's see. Theodore Nott worries me. He has a suspicious bruise on his leg, and there's a number of old wounds that can't quite be accounted for as typical childhood injuries. I wouldn't go to his father with this information, though. Any magical curse residue has long since gone. But the instant the boy comes with another suspicious injury, you know the routine."

"Indeed."

Standard practice was for Severus to keep an eagle eye out on all his Slytherins for any new injuries or bruises they couldn't hide – but they'd try anyway, especially after start of term in September or January. If anything came up, he would send them for a "routine medical check-up", and usually threaten the loss of House points. Since it was practically Slytherin mythology that something had to be serious enough for Snape to take off points from Slytherin, nobody dared disobey an instruction like that.

_One_ student had, very early in Severus's teaching career, and that student had been sentenced to scrubbing the stone walls of the common room, by hand, with no magic, for the next two months.

After losing twenty points from Slytherin.

Snape had to freely admit he was not always successful in convincing parents to back off their children. His methods usually worked the best on pure-blood parents, who remembered the little firstie that knew more curses than some sevenths. His veiled suggestions that Poppy Pomfrey had noticed something 'unusual', or that the Dragon Deputy McGonagall muttered something in his ear, usually worked. He would then insist that he knew how to handle discipline problems, playing on the motif of 'Slytherins look out for each other' – after all, children _do_ need discipline.

He liked the time, though, that he'd been able to deal with a half-blood's parents – the pure-blood mother was of a family that moved back from France after the First War, and the Muggleborn father was uncomfortably aware that Snape had the ear of _Lucius Malfoy_. So it was easy enough to play on the half-truths they knew about him, and being able to breathe down their necks had been a satisfying resolution to the father's excessive discipline techniques. Far less wearying than the fencing and counterfencing those snotty pure-bloods insisted on engaging in as a cover for plain talk.

But one name had yet to come up...

"Harry Potter."

The Potions master twitched violently.

"What about him, Poppy?"

"I don't like this. He's underweight for his height, for one thing. That could be evidence of undernourishment on a regular basis. Additionally, his system has elevated levels of adrenalin."

Severus was inclined to dismiss this. "The levels of adrenalin don't exactly mean anything; it's his first day here, so naturally he's going to be excited; the first-years were all chattering away at breakfast as though they were owls in the owlery – and as for the height and eating habits, perhaps he's just a finicky eater, and hasn't bothered to broaden his tastes."

With some asperity, Poppy replied, "Severus, _all_ the children I examined had slightly elevated levels of adrenalin! Mr Potter's was quite high compared to the rest.

"Additionally, his reflex results here bear that out. He has astonishingly swift reflexes, and while some of it is inherited, I wonder how much of it is a learned response."

Severus recalled an article in _Potions Monthly_ that discussed the responses of the sympathetic nervous system to Invigoration Draughts. It occurred to him that in such a case, a person's reflexes were usually enhanced substantially, accompanied by higher adrenalin levels. By itself it usually didn't mean anything, but coupled with the mediwitch's report, it sounded as though the boy was on guard much of the time he was awake. One didn't lose that habit overnight.

Keeping his mind open regarding the possible direction they were heading, Snape said, "Are there any definite signs of physical assault, Poppy?"

_Gather more evidence. Put the pieces together. _The familiar train of thought asserted itself as Severus decided to try and treat the matter as though the Slytherin boy was someone other than Potter.

She sighed. "Well, there's evidence of minor injuries consistent with punches, Severus. There's one last thing in this report. The boy's arm was broken at around the age of five and it's a _miracle_ the bones set properly. It wouldn't be noticeable, but the magical diagnostic is whole-body, and I'm experienced enough with the way Muggleborns have their injuries treated to know how their bone-healing methods work."

Then Poppy dropped her bombshell. "Severus, the boy didn't have a cast. His arm was left to heal on its own!"

With a heavy sigh, Poppy said, "I hate to say it. I can't _believe_ this! The Boy Who Lived! Abused!"

Severus raised his eyebrows as he considered the implications. He'd seen the results of a bone that hadn't set properly. A worker from the factory had once come to visit his father, and the gist of their conversation had been about a bad workplace accident. The man who'd visited had an arm that looked slightly crooked, and he ranted about how the idiot NHS doctor hadn't set the bones properly and the cast fucked it all up for him as a result.

Pomfrey noticed his lifted eyebrows, taking them to mean he didn't quite believe his ears. "It's true. I know because the bone re-growth pattern is not typical of someone who has had a cast with properly-set bones. Bones that have been set properly usually re-grow to become essentially indistinguishable from the unbroken bone. In Mister Potter's case there are distinguishable irregularities that suggest that only his own magic helped heal the bones in a manner that left his arm functional."

"Blast it! All right, make me a duplicate of that. I'll watch in Potions to see how Potter behaves in close contact. I don't know the details of his family, but in my experience the abuser is often male. I'll have to find a way to get the information out of the boy."

Poppy did so, then placed the duplicate parchment in an envelope and charmed it to only open when Severus was handling it. She said, "What about the Headmaster?"

"It's none of his business right now. I didn't tell Albus about every last niggling little detail regarding the other children you've told me about over the years and I see no reason to let him put his nose into Slytherin internal affairs now."

Pomfrey reluctantly nodded, and said, "That boy – if you hadn't insisted on this procedure as a general rule for Slytherins, or if he'd gone to another House, I'd have missed this by the time he came in with a school-related injury, and I'd have been hard-pressed to tell the difference."

Poppy Pomfrey shook her head and pursed her lips at the thought of what some people could do to the children in their care, while Severus Snape drank off the last of his tea, and began the night-time patrol of Hogwarts.

He felt, for the first time, the pull of an Unbreakable Vow. Even without it, he said to himself, he would not have stood for Lily Evans's child being mistreated by a group of ignorant Muggles. But he wasn't so sure. Seeing James Potter's face again after a decade called back memories he had wished were buried and gone, and it had been a bit of a struggle in the Slytherin Common Room to not let a spike of anger overtake him as he saw James Potter's face and hair poking out of a Hogwarts robe.

It was one of the few times he'd realised the disadvantage to the slow pace of change in the wizarding world. Robe fashions that stayed the same for over twenty years had an annoying habit of obscuring other differences which existed in people who looked almost the same.

- - - - -**  
**

_Draco Malfoy was standing confusedly in front of Professor Snape's clapped-out old house; his mother had once sniffed at it, __saying 'Spinner's__ End? More like _Peasant's_ End, if you ask me', and Draco could see why. It was so unbelievably _Muggle_. He could not believe the urbane Head of Slytherin, whose silky voice put one in mind of the purest of the pure bloods, lived in a place of such austerity among Muggles. He supposed this place could compete with that awful Weasel residence that he had heard about... the Buffalo, or some such name for a clapped-out rubbish __heap_

_Snape's quiet Apparition before him startled him out of his musings, and the pair swiftly entered the house, which was absolutely pitch-black inside; the windows had some sort of heavy drapery over them. The young blond lifted his eyebrow as the older wizard's nonverbal spell caused a gas lamp to begin flaring on one wall, while a candlestick on the table, situated between two rubbishy chairs, also lit up, casting a pale yellow glow across the bookcases nearby. Indeed, the whole place was simply packed with books, books, and _more_ books. Sardonically, Draco wondered if Granger would have a heart attack or an explosion of rapture if she ever got to Snape's place._

_The ex-Defence Professor was swiftly tending to the wound he'd taken earlier; he'd heard Snape muttering "... blasted hippogriff... bollocks to Potter..."_

_Draco wondered if perhaps it was that same hippogriff he'd tried to have executed, but which had mysteriously escaped that night before the rumours began sweeping Hogwarts about Sirius Black. That oaf Hagrid certainly had a soft spot for those dangerous animals._

_The pale boy cautiously sat down in one of the ancient chairs near the table with the candlestick, making a face at the cloud of dust which enveloped him before he irritably muttered, "Scourgify". After the other man was finished treating himself, he started in on Draco._

"_You unbelievably arrogant, stupid, incompetent fool of a boy! You have cost the Dark Lord his best spy within the walls of Hogwarts, all because you couldn't be bothered to ask for my help! All because you couldn't bring yourself to complete the mission assigned to you!"_

_Draco whimpered pathetically, "B-but... my mother! My father!"_

"_Spare me your mewling about your family, Draco! You know as well as I do that the Dark Lord cares only for the fact that a Death Eater can complete an assigned mission and do so properly. You have failed. Now come with me. We must make an accounting, and make no mistake about it—"_

_The boy quailed as the greasy teacher yanked him out of the seat and threw him against the door. The pain in the back of his head momentarily disoriented him as he blinked rapidly. Snape pointed his finger in Draco's face, and bit off the final words: "I repeat, make no mistake, I will _not_ hesitate to explain the situation to the Dark Lord and see you appropriately punished for this! Now get out of my house and Apparate with me."_

_Quivering, the young blond let himself be Apparated with a jolt to the Riddle mansion..._

Draco jerked awake with a yell, finally wrenching himself out of the nightmare. He hadn't wanted to relive, again, that terrifying experience of being under the Cruciatus curse due to the Dark Lord's displeasure. Admittedly, the nightmare was a relatively tame one compared to what followed, but that night had been so confusing and stressful.

He was already giving serious consideration to brewing Dreamless Sleep on the sly in that bathroom of Moaning Myrtle's.

Getting his bearings, he realised he was at Hogwarts, and today was the first Double Potions class. Well, no _wonder_ he'd had his first nightmare at Hogwarts! He had never been afraid of Severus Snape before, but that night after Dumbledore's death, the man had turned his full loathing towards him, the same loathing he freely vented on Potter and his Gryffindor friends – and indeed, _any_ Gryffindor, such as the unfortunate Neville Longbottom.

A sudden lump in his throat made it hard to swallow as he realised that he would be in the presence of (in his opinion) the single most dangerous Death Eater alive, aside from his crazy Aunt Bellatrix. Grabbing up his wand and muttering, "_Tempus_", Draco noted that it was close to seven in the morning. He made for the shower and got himself ready for the day; at least he knew he could complain to his father if need be – a rather sobering thought for Draco, as it called to mind the rather uncomfortable image of being caught between a dragon and a granite wall.

**- - -  
**

Draco thought he'd covered his nervousness in the Potions classroom well enough, but Harry noticed. He said, "Draco, what's wrong? You look… well, worried."

They were sitting in Potions, right in the front row, with Crabbe and Goyle at the bench just behind them, and Weasley and Granger were seated at the front bench across the aisle. The Gryffindors were scattered more towards the back; Pansy Parkinson was actually sitting with Parvati Patil this time. Surprised, Draco wondered at it until he remembered that since the Patil twins were pureblooded, they'd occasionally visited with Pansy in years past. He remembered they hadn't had the fight over Longbottom yet when he'd stolen the Remembrall.

Draco mentally cursed at Harry's observational skill, and said, "Yes, I'm a bit nervous. This is the first time I've had a Potions lesson outside of private lessons, that's all."

At Draco's facile dismissal, Harry smiled and nodded.

The banging of the door startled Draco badly and he nearly fell off his chair, as Professor Snape stormed back into the classroom. Earlier, he'd eyed the first-years standing outside the Potions classroom as though they were potions ingredients, and said, "Get in, and wait for me. I shall be back momentarily. None of you are to begin doing _anything_ until I get back."

Well, he was back now.

After balefully eyeing the classroom, Professor Snape did the roll call, pausing only briefly over Harry's name, then continuing. Draco thought, _Harry being a Slytherin seems to have made up for some of that animosity. I can only _hope_ nothing goes pear-shaped in this class!_

Snape then ran through his speech regarding potions. Draco, out the corner of his eye, noted the rapt attention Harry gave to the man's speech, and wondered if maybe Harry would have actually _liked_ Potions if the two hadn't kept striking sparks off each other.

"Potter!"

_And now, it begins,_ thought Draco.

Harry looked steadily at the professor, who then said, "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Hermione Granger promptly shot her hand in the air, and after noticing that Snape didn't seem to be interested in calling on her when Harry took a second to consider the question and reply, began fidgeting on her lab stool.

Professor Snape, noticing this, turned to her and idly said, "You may put your hand down, Miss Granger. Unless you require the use of the washroom facilities?"

She put her hand down reluctantly, and Snape said, "Since it appears the washroom is not the issue here, then wait until you are called upon in future."

Somewhat abashed, Granger picked up her quill, apparently deciding that if she couldn't answer questions she would copy out every word. Snape turned back to Harry expectantly.

Harry's brow furrowed as he apparently recalled his Potions theory book, and then he replied, "They're the same plant, sir."

Snape said, "Tell me, Potter, why would I be interested in the fact that Mr Weasley has chosen a rat as his familiar?"

Harry, gathering himself, said, "Um, I think their tails are useful in potions… sir?"

"Very well. I see that our celebrity has paid attention. Mr Potter is correct that monkshood and wolfsbane are the same, and they also go by the name aconite. In addition, other rat parts are also useful as potions ingredients. Take a point for Slytherin, Mr Potter… and the rest of you could follow his example and _begin copying this down!_"

After the scratches of quills on parchment ceased, Snape began again. "Now, today you will make a fairly simple boil-curing potion. As in all future classes, I will place the instructions on the board, and you shall begin. Pair up, and _do not waste your ingredients_!"

The last fairly-shouted statement made several members of the class jump, and Draco noticed that Finnegan actually reared his head back at the shout.

Draco and Harry split up the task of getting the ingredients together for the boil-cure potion. Draco remembered to keep his Occlumency shields up, and to not look Snape directly in the eye if he could avoid it. He'd tried to put on his most fawning expression at Snape's speech, but he wasn't sure he'd really pulled it off.

When they came back to their bench, Draco said, "Here. You crush the snake fangs. I'll weigh the nettles. I've a bit of practice with these potions scales."

Harry nodded, and the two set to work, Luckily for the overall progress of the class, although Snape stalked about the class in his usual bat-like manner, he mostly kept his mouth closed, only barely taking swipes at the Gryffindors while pausing to correct the Slytherins if they crushed the snake fangs too coarsely.

The potion began without issue, and as Draco stirred the potion, he quietly said, "Harry, was your scar okay? I saw you rubbing your head a bit in Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Harry smiled briefly, although a bit uncertainly, thought Draco. He said, "Yeah, it ached a little in Quirrell's class but I'm all right now."

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Snape was at their bench, surprising them both a bit. He said, "It appears that your potion is coming along well," then accidentally brushed Harry's shoulder as he reached for the ladle to examine the contents more closely. Harry's face twitched and he jerked a bit more than Draco supposed one would at an accidental touch. Draco's suspicions were raised again at this new piece of information.

After peering at the contents, Snape said, "Good. Remember to stew your horned slugs evenly."

He swooped away, and Draco wondered, yet again, how the man seemed to _glide_ when he wanted to.

Draco showed Harry how to stew the slugs properly, grinning at the latter's look of distaste. He said, "If you think _this_ is bad, you should look more closely at those shelves in the professor's area, Harry."

"I'm trying _not_ to, Draco. That's the thing."

Minor conversation like this ensued, and as Draco took the cauldron off the fire to let it cool, he made sure to have Harry carefully add the porcupine quills while keeping an eye out for Neville Longbottom's cauldron. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Brown grab Longbottom's wrist before it touched the cauldron. She pointed at the board's instructions, and the boy seemed to deflate and wince as he carefully withdrew his hand, while Lavender turned the flame off and took the cauldron off the burner to let it cool.

_Crisis averted! Yes!_ An exploding cauldron episode was hardly the best way to start things off in first year, especially when Snape, Draco surmised, was still deciding the best way to deal with a Slytherin Potter.

The rest of the Potions class passed relatively quietly, with no-one having to go to the hospital wing, and before long, Snape was bellowing, "Clean up your equipment and get out of my classroom!"

**- - - - -**

After classes ended for the day, in the lull before dinner began in the Great Hall, Severus Snape was heading to the Headmaster's office, mulling over what he'd seen. He had scribbled on the back of Pomfrey's parchment some notes regarding the unusual flinch the Potter boy had shown when he'd "accidentally" brushed the boy's shoulder in reaching for the cauldron.

As loath as he was to admit it, evidence was mounting that not all was exactly as it should be in the island of Potter. But a more immediate problem was at hand…

The gargoyle moved aside, admitting Severus after he unwillingly ground out, "Excitable Éclairs," and as he rode the stairs he grimaced at Dumbledore's latest fad in confectionery.

Upon entering the Headmaster's office, he saw the old Headmaster peering through his telescope at some faraway scene. He said, "Headmaster—"

The old man interrupted him, saying, "Ah, Severus. I was just admiring the beauty of the mountains that surround us. We are indeed favoured with the foresight of the Founders to have chosen such a remote location that, even in these modern days, few people wish to encroach on these grounds. But I am remiss. Have a seat. Would you like a sherbet lemon?"

"No."

As Dumbledore seated himself, he said, "Alas. Nobody ever seems to eat one. Perhaps they are too sour, or perhaps people are too wary of Muggle sweets. They have a very amusing form of chocolate in pieces about the size of these sherbet lemons. They are called, ah, 'Hershey Kisses', I believe."

Severus sneered and said, "I haven't got all day to recite the glories of Muggle candies. I need to report to you some things I've heard about Potter."

At that, the Headmaster was instantly alert, his usual vague expression of good cheer replaced by the intensity Severus had seldom seen since the late 1970s. If Dumbledore thought this was serious, Severus didn't like to think about the odds that the Dark Lord was biding his time, waiting to settle his score with Potter.

"Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy came to me the night of the Sorting. Potter said his scar hurt him at dinner, and it was when he looked at the High Table that it happened. He _claims_ it was a twinge, but surface Legilimency suggests it was more like a sharp pain than a _twinge_. I then happened to overhear them in Potions today, and Potter was saying his scar ached a bit during that pitiable Quirrell's class."

Dumbledore leaned forwards, his arms on his desk, palms down. His expression was entirely businesslike as he said, "This is serious, Severus. I do not as yet know all the properties of the scar young Harry has, but one thing is clear – the fact that it was created at the moment Voldemort's attack failed strongly suggests to me that the two are linked in some way. I am forced to wonder about Quirinus's journey to Albania, and what he encountered there."

The implications of this were dramatic – and all grim. Severus showed no outward sign of his inner uncertainty as he said, "For what you imply to be true – that the Dark Lord has indeed re-entered Hogwarts, my Dark Mark would have had to flare up as well, and it has not. Not _once_, Headmaster, this term or, for that matter, in the last decade. I think Quirrell has simply been given a bad case of permanent anxiety from his foolish adventures abroad and is probably attempting to redeem himself by chasing after things he ought not to be chasing."

It went without saying that the Philosopher's Stone posed a very tempting target.

"I fear, Severus, that it is too much of a coincidence that Mr Potter's scar should hurt at any time in this school when it would appear that it has never hurt before. But at the very least – are we agreed that you must keep an eye on Quirrell?"

Severus smirked, saying, "I have no issue with chasing down that puerile excuse for a Defence professor. Are you sure you won't let me have the job for next year?"

Dumbledore's eye glistened and appeared to twinkle in amusement as he said, "Now, Severus, you're only applying for Defence Against the Dark Arts because you know about the curse. I do apologise, but it is my wish that you not leave my employ _just_ yet. In any case, thank you for your information. Dinner will start soon and it would be unseemly of me to not appear for the excellent food the house-elves provide."

Snorting, Severus stood up and followed the Headmaster out of the room, wondering if he could plead urgent business with Draco, or another Slytherin, and eat dinner in his room. Unfortunately, this was rendered impossible by the Headmaster's adroit questioning as to how many alchemists had been published lately in _Potions Monthly_.

Severus had not, however, forgotten that Draco Malfoy seemed a bit fidgety around him now. Perhaps it was simply the fact that he couldn't devote all his attention to Draco for Potions lessons anymore, but it bore watching, even if he had no intention of saying anything to Lucius.

Another thought flitted through his mind – why did Draco breathe a sigh of relief after he quizzed Potter and gave Slytherin a point?

* * *

Author Notes:

Hello, again. Apologies for the long delay in this fic - this one is one I want to take good care of, so polishing it up just right is important. This fic is not abandoned, by any means. :) Thanks go to **Kirinin** and **Maddevillechilde** for their beta work on this fic. :) Much thanks are due my betas for putting up with my "Are you done yet?" e-mails. :D

In addition, I made some minor technical corrections to some previous chapters and added a small segment to Draco's Diagon Alley visit. As well I'd like to direct your attention to another fic, set in the Erasing-verse, called "Owl Tracks". :)

And, finally, as always I welcome concrit be it in a review, PM or e-mail. :-)

_Addendum:_ I realize that in the 1950s and 1960s, the UK's NHS was better-funded than it is today, but even so, the law of averages says that the doctor that got a C+ on his examinations instead of an A+ will be the one to treat you - this is with respect to the mill worker scene.


	13. A Truce Begins

**Erasing Time's Tracks**  
Chapter 13

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

- - -

Draco had another dream the night after Potions.

_The door to his underground lab was open as he worked feverishly on the Arithmancy calculations, only to be started by a sudden __**slam**__ that __indicated that someone had opened and then closed the manor's front doors. _

_After putting his quill down, and carefully locking away his notes, Draco then locked the door to the lab, throwing the deadbolt with his key and then magically locking it afterwards. He trod carefully up the stairs towards the foyer, only to get the shock of his life as he saw Snape's billowing robes exiting with his mother towards the sitting room. Against his better judgement, his heart pounding, he sneaked up next to the entryway, straining his ears to catch their conversation._

"_Severus, why are you here?"_

"_You know why, Narcissa. The Dark Lord has decided that Draco alive is still worth getting use from."_

_The sharp rejoinder from his mother buoyed his spirits somewhat, as his mother cried, "The boy is still recovering, Severus! I won't have him leave this mansion until then—"_

"_You should also know that the Dark Lord will probably relocate his headquarters to this mansion, Narcissa," Snape butted in. "I will advise him that Draco is not yet able to rejoin _his_ ranks, but my word, as you well know, is not final. He is very displeased with the Malfoy family right now."_

_He thought he heard his mother stifle a sob, but couldn't be sure. "Severus… what of Bellatrix? What of the current news now that Dumbledore is dead? Surely _he_ is pleased by that."_

"_I have nothing to say about your sister. She does not trust me, nor I her. As for current events, Yaxley is trying to put an Imperius Curse on Pius Thicknesse. So far he has been rather unsuccessful, but our advantage in using Thicknesse over Scrimgeour is that Thicknesse is a pure-blood and already is sympathetic to some of our goals. The Dark Lord, pleased or not, is not one to settle accounts on anyone's terms but his own. We are only waiting until Potter's protections disappear, and for the Imperius to be successful on the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Once that is done, our agenda proceeds with all due haste."_

_Draco, already nervous and a bit rattled, decided discretion was very much the better part of valour. His heart pounded as he hurriedly sneaked up to his bedroom, rapidly changed into bedclothes, then flicked his wand at the candle to darken the room as he feigned sleep._

**- - -**

That weekend was a quiet, restful one as Draco and Harry rambled over the Hogwarts grounds.

The two boys started an impromptu game of 'tag' around the Quidditch pitch, sneaking in and out from under the stands, trying to send tickling charms at each other. Harry's reflexes proved the superior, as he felled Draco just after the latter dashed out from under the Slytherin stands, hoping to zig-zag across the pitch towards the Hufflepuff section. The former, gloating just a bit, called, "_Finite_," then came up to Draco with his hand extended.

Draco reached up, picking himself off the grass; as he released Harry's hand, he hurriedly cast a cleaning charm when he realised that his rolling about on the pitch had got green stains on his robes. He was thanking the fates – or Merlin, really – that he was not fully seventeen. He thought he would be rather bored if he had had to spend all his time around ickle firsties and their self-important inanities. It let him be a boy again, something he had not dared to really do at Hogwarts his first time around.

Playing games like this would have been impossible; too worried about his image, too concerned that people might think him un-Malfoyish if he deigned to just cut loose and enjoy himself.

Luckily, however, Harry, being Muggle-raised, had no expectations of Draco except to just be a friend.

As the boys rose to the top of the Quidditch pitch stands, to survey the grounds, the black haired boy called out, "Draco! Up there! That's Hedwig, and your owl, I think."

Draco squinted, looking up at the clear blue sky, where, sure enough, Zeus was flitting about in the air in some kind of acrobatic dance with the noticeable snowy owl of Harry's. All of a sudden, they heard a very faint _hoot_, and Hedwig suddenly swooped down to the ground; eagerly, they waited to see what she would find.

Disappointment hit briefly as she appeared to come up empty-clawed, and they watched as Hedwig and Zeus flew off to Hogsmeade.

Draco spoke up.

"Harry, didn't you say you got a letter from that man, Hagrid?"

Uncomfortable as he was with the notion of being near the half-giant, he couldn't very well interfere with Harry's friendships too noticeably, or he might wonder what Draco was up to. Hopefully, they wouldn't go to that hut _too_ often.

**- - - - -  
**

Harry Potter was surprised when Draco agreed to come along to Hagrid's hut, for he had got the impression Draco was still adjusting to being one of several hundred children instead of an only child. At first, Draco had given off the impression of being like Dudley, when they had chatted at Madam Malkin's, and Harry knew all too well what excessive doting did to Cousin Dinky Duddydums – he thought himself too good to lower himself to talk to the poorer kids at the local primary. However, Draco had become more affable and conversational as time went on, showing that he wasn't going to sniff at Harry just for being Harry.

The huge gamekeeper had called out, "Oi, it's 'Arry! And yer friend here, who's he?"

"Hi, Hagrid. Thanks for agreeing to see us. This is Draco, Draco Malfoy."

The half-giant's expression went just a bit guarded as he said, "Hullo, Malfoy. I remember yer Dad, and _yer_ Dad too, Harry. I've been here a long time now, yeh know. Seen many people come and go."

Draco said nothing, and simply nodded once as he trailed behind Harry into the hut. Luckily, Fang the dog seemed content to sit in the corner and drool just a bit.

Draco, for his part, seemed to be trying to put his best foot forward. He accepted the large cup of tea without complaint, and sipped at it without expressing distaste. Harry found that Hagrid's tea tasted quite good, and happily gulped it down as he began chatting with the half-giant. Both boys, however, attempted with as much diplomacy as possible to ignore the rock cakes, after they heard an audible _clunk_ when Hagrid put them on a pair of plates.

After they were seated, Hagrid said, "Yeh know, Harry, I've got ter say I wasn' expectin' yeh to be in Slytherin. But I hear they've got that Muggleborn now. Things mus' be changin' here at Hogwarts. Las' time tha' happened was abou' thirty years ago and the kid ended up asking to be sen' to Beauxbatons."

Harry nodded, and replied, "Honestly, Hagrid, the Hat thought Slytherin would be the best place for me. My friends Ron and Hermione are with me in Slytherin, too, and Draco here met me at Madam Malkin's and wrote back and forth to me about the wizarding world. We've become friends, too."

The gamekeeper's eyebrows lifted as he said, "Well, blimey! I hope yeh don' mind me sayin' so, Draco, but I didn' always have the bes' encounters wi' yer Dad. But any friend o' Harry's is good enough fer me. So tell me about yer week, the both o' ye?"

Draco (somewhat stiffly, Harry thought) answered, "Well, Professor Snape gave us the usual first-year orientation and speech. He is very keen on being sure we all fit in at Slytherin, you know. As for my classes I think I like Potions the best, actually."

Harry nodded, adding, "Yeah. I think I like Transfiguration and Charms a bit better than Potions; no offence, Draco. I thought Defence Against the Dark Arts was going to be great, but Professor Quirrell's just been talking to us about vampires and things like that; the smell of garlic's a bit distracting, though.

"About Potions, though – I've got just this idea that Professor Snape doesn't seem to like me that much."

Draco and Hagrid both put innocent expressions on their faces as Hagrid cried, "That's rubbish, Harry. Why would he do tha'? Anyway, lemme tell yeh about yer Mum an' Dad, all righ'?"

Harry was happy to listen to stories of his parents' seventh year, but he didn't miss the fact that Hagrid had clumsily changed the subject when he'd brought up Snape.

For Draco's part, that innocent face was just a bit _too_ studied, considering that Harry had already been warned by Draco himself that Snape had had encounters with his Dad. But Draco seemed more interested in the previous day's Daily Prophet than in hearing about James Potter and Lily Evans.

**- - - - -  
**

Draco noticed that the Daily Prophet sitting on the large table in the hut had a story about a break-in at Gringotts. He realised with some consternation that it had been the same day that Harry and he had been at Diagon Alley to get their school robes, and wondered (again) if the break-in had to do with this stone thing that kept nagging at the back of his head. He _did_ know that Professor Quirrell had to be behind it, somehow, considering that a Dark Lord was hibernating within the man.

Oddly, he noticed he felt _less_ afraid of Quirrell than Snape. He supposed this was because the Dark Lord would ignore Draco (being all of eleven years old and therefore not a good Death Eater candidate) and focus on Harry to settle accounts. But Snape – it was a matter of time before he would have to make a decision as to whether to trust the man part-way, or cut the man out of his plans to stay on Harry's side of the upcoming war. At least Harry didn't mark his followers, and wasn't about to throw Unforgivables all over the place.

Giving that up as a bad job before his stomach twisted itself completely in knots, he mentally came back to the present conversation, as he heard Hagrid say, "—well, yer Mum was really good at Charms, she was. They say she might o' worked at the Department of Mysteries fer a bit before she had yeh in 1980."

Harry, wide-eyed, said, "What's the Department of Mysteries?"

"Aye, it's this secret area o' the Ministry. The people that work there're called Unspeakables. It's more than their job's worth to tell yeh anythin' 'bout what they do, which tells yeh how important the Ministry thinks their work is."

Harry, in surprise, said, "Did you hear that, Draco?"

Draco, impressed despite himself, said, "Yeah. She would have been, um, how old?"

Hagrid scratched his beard and said, "Hm. I reckon probably nineteen or twenty."

At that moment, Draco knew _exactly_ what he wanted to do after he helped Harry get rid of the Dark Wanker. If Potter's mother was smart enough to get a job there at _nineteen_, he wanted to beat her record!

**- - -**

As it turned out, Ron and Hermione had also rambled the Hogwarts grounds and came across Harry and Draco as they were leaving Hagrid's. The foursome walked back up towards the castle, and Ron and Draco, to Draco's surprise, had an amiable chat about the Quidditch Pitch.

Draco had said, in a bit of a stilted fashion, "I think the grass is a bit too stiff, actually."

Ron Weasley replied, "I think it's all right. You don't want it to be too soft. Then it's just ugly when you smash into it because you get all that dirt and sod on yourself."

"You thinking of going for the team?"

"Maybe. I dunno, my brothers are the really good players. Charlie was Seeker for ages, and Fred and George – they're practically human Beaters themselves. Even Percy actually becomes a bit human, according to them, at Quidditch games, when Gryffindor actually win."

Draco smirked, saying, "Afraid it'll be Slytherin for the foreseeable future. I'm thinking of going for the team next year, as Chaser or Seeker. You should go for Keeper, I think."

"Me? I'm not exactly big, like your Quidditch captain, Flint. Now _there's_ a scary bloke."

Draco privately agreed, and mentally grinned. "Well, look here – Harry, and, ah, Ron. Why don't we all agree to go out for Chaser next year, and then when we're older, you try out for Keeper."

Weasley looked surprised, but said, admittedly sounding guarded, "Sure. I've heard stories about those old school brooms, though. I wish I could get a good broom – not everybody has your money, Malfoy."

At that moment, Draco nearly bristled, but forced himself to remember they were all Slytherins now, and said frostily, "My father will buy brooms for the whole team if I make it."

The other three children all stared at Draco, their jaws open before Weasley spluttered, "Do you know how much that'll—"

"Nimbus 2000s, Weasley. Don't tell me you'd turn _that_ down."

"Bloody hell, I'd have to be crazy _not_ to. All right, Malfoy. You want an official Truce?"

Hermione broke in. "Truce? What's this?"

"It's a pure-blood custom and ritual. It's used between families that have been at odds for a while, like my family and the Malfoys. Dad's never been happy with Malfoy's Dad, but I can live with being nice to Mal… uh, Draco here if he can fix it so we get great brooms next year. Merlin's pants, I can't wait!"

Draco noticed Hermione get a glint in her eye, which he rapidly learned was associated with her desire to rush off to the library and look something up. In fact, as soon as they entered the Hogwarts castle proper, she rushed off to the library, and came back that night babbling to Weasley about the Truce, sounding exactly like she'd inhaled _A Compendium of Basic Pure-Blood Rites_.

The startling thought occurred to Draco that Hermione Granger might well end up acting more pure-blood than Pansy by the end of first year.

* * *

Author Notes:

Hi all. This chapter was betaed by Maddevillechilde. Unfortunately, though, I have lost my betas for this fic owing to their own workload on other things, and so need to ask if anyone reading this would like to take up the task. If you do, please private-message me outside of a review. :) Thanks. :)

As always I particularly appreciate con-crit and suggestions, and as you'll notice I'm retconning in some DH canon :D

Apologies for the short length of this chapter. Remixing the first year is actually proving to be a bit of a tough situation, trying to avoid veering off so drastically as to make it implausible, but also avoiding just nicking off the entire first book. :)


End file.
